Dawn of the Personality Challenged Power Rangers
by Holly-Batali
Summary: What's happening to the SPD rangers? Sky thinks he's a Broadway star, Z thinks she's a lawyer, Jack thinks he's the star of a sitcom, Sydney is a goth-girl treehugger--can our newly germaphobic Bridge Carson solve the mystery and sort of save the world?
1. Sky and Musical Theatre

Dawn of the Personality Challenged Power Rangers

By Holly-Batali and EvilDarkPurpleGirl

Disclaimer: We do not own Power Rangers, SPD, musical theatre, sitcoms, Mexico, Goths (in all forms and terms), germ phobia, Lysol (and other various cleaning products), or Puff the Magic Dragon. However, we _do _own Puffers the not-so-magical-as-much-as-polyester-fiber dragon.

Chapter One: Sky and Musical Theatre

It's always pretty busy in the Rec Room at SPD headquarters, so today was kind of boring in comparison. It was just the four of us—Syd, Jack, Z, and me (hi, I'm Bridge)—with Sky off somewhere in our room (we're roommates). Today, we were just having half-hearted (or maybe half-effort) staring contests and Go Fish.

"Do you have a seven?" asked Jack in a bored tone. Well, it was kind of bored, and kind of on-the-edge-of-suicide bored.

"No, jump off a cliff," said Z in an equal tone. They got really bored of saying "Go Fish" after a while, so they started making up stuff. The best one so far was "go to Kat and sing I'm a D-squad cadet (our version of I'm a little teapot) in opera-soprano" or "chug a quart of melted margarine and Pepto-Bismol." Maybe even, "go dress up as a pirate and declare yourself as the King of Finland." I didn't fully appreciate "go tell Bridge that Doc Felix said he's allergic to butter," as much as they did, though.

"'Kay," said Z, Jack taking a card. "Do you have…a three?"

"No," said Jack, "go tell Sky he's been reading an outdated SPD Handbook for the past six months."

Syd snorted, "Your funeral." Syd and I were having a staring contest, and had been for the past seven minutes and fifty-eight point five seconds.

Z and Jack both sighed. Then Syd and I sighed. Then we all sighed again. We couldn't even play light ball, 'cause D.C. (Commander Cruger) had said we were grounded from it since Z and Jack had smashed the window and accidentally sent a chair flying, which, consequently, hit a D-Squad cadet in the head, giving him a small concussion. Those gosh-darn D-Squaders get in the way of everything.

I didn't catch what Jack asked for, but Z said, "Go tell Cruger that Sky is quitting to go on as a Broadway singer."

Syd and I gave identical 'hah's!' As in 'hah! As if.' We had known Sky longer than they had, and we knew that Sky didn't like music, not even classical.

Just then we got a shock that broke up Go [insert sarcastic something of your choice and the staring contest.

Sky walked in with his hair untidy and his SPD jacket open over his blue t-shirt. He even had his shirt untucked! He walked over to the couch I was sitting on, apparently oblivious to our ogling stares. He plopped—yes, plopped!—down next to me and crossed his legs at the ankle, reclining and putting his hands behind his head.

"Hello my fellow musically-inclined…friends!" We almost keeled over and died of shock.

"Sky," Syd said timidly, "are you feeling okay? Should I go get Doctor Felix?"

He actually displayed emotion, showing shock. "Why, I'm perfectly fantastically dazzlingly hunky-dory." He smiled in a naïve manner and added, "In fact, I'm _melodiously _fine."

I decided to read his aura, just to be safe. I took off my glove and waved my hand in front of him. I let out a sort of "ah!" and fell off the couch, my legs sprawling over the seat. I got three or four yells of "Bridge!" but I didn't care. I jumped up and sprinted to the cover of the food bar, jumping up on top of it and squatting down, arming myself with a spatula and a colander.

"All right," I said in a slightly threatening manor to Sky, "who are you and what have you done with Sir SPD-you're-under-arrest-that's-against-regulations-I'm-in-love-with-my-handbook?" Sky just blinked at me stupidly, just like everyone else.

"A_men_" said Z, trying not to crack up.

"I'm still me, Bridge," said Sky, looking slightly hurt.

"Define_ Bridge,_" said Syd scoffingly.

"Yeah, Bridge, what's up with you?" asked Jack

"Well," said Sky, standing up, "I have an announcement to make."

While we went back to ogling, Sky continued, "I'm quitting SPD."

If Grumm himself had waltzed in to ask for a play-date with Cruger, I don't think we would be more shocked than we were right now. _"What?"_

"That's right," said Sky dramatically. "I have found my true calling."

"And what would that be?" Stuttered Jack, probably the only one of us who could say anything at the moment.

"MUSICAL THEATRE!" Sang Sky. Seriously, he _sang _it; loudly and very…Broadway-ish.

I dropped my colander and spatula with a dull thud and a clang, my arms still raised. I guess it was kind of that western ghost town kind of air at the moment. All we needed was tumbleweed; and maybe Clint Eastwood.


	2. Role Play

Dawn of the Personality-Challenged Power Rangers

By Holly-Batali

Disclaimer: We do not own Power Rangers, SPD, musical theatre, sitcoms, Mexico, Goths (in all forms and terms), tree-huggers, germ phobia, Lysol (and other various cleaning products), or Puff the Magic Dragon. However, we _do _own Puffers the not-so-magical-as-much-as-polyester-fiber dragon.

Chapter 2: Role Play

I was starting to get really scared of being within a half-mile radius of Sky. Every time he came into our room, he'd be singing some Broadway musical or another, and it was really pretty scary as far as Sky goes. Heck, we'd even had Dr. Felix take a look at him, but he hadn't come up with anything.

I was sitting on my bed tossing around my SPD handbook when Sky came in, dressed in a violently colorful theatrical costume singing—at the top of his lungs—"SLIGHTLY LESS FOR PEOPLE WE DON'T LIKE, AND A LITTLE BIT MORE FOR ME." I cringed as he turned to me and swept off his hat. "Halloo my good fellow. How _are _you today? I do hope you're well. Things have been quiet lately, haven't they?"

"Yes," I agreed in a squeaky tone. "Yeah, Sky…" He cut me off.

"No no no. Please, I implore thee, call me Sir Lancelot." I blinked a few times. "I'm in character," he whispered conspiratorially.

"Oh," I said, as though this were quite obvious now, and it made all the sense in the world. "Well Sk—I mean, uh…Sir Lancelot, I'm just gonna go get some toast, 'kay?" And without even waiting for a reply, I ran off to the rec room, tripping over my own feet. I shuddered and walked over to the food machine. _What is wrong with him? _I thought, _he's acting like he just drank a quart of melted margarine and pepto-bismal. _

I got my toast and sat down on the couch next to Z, who was playing video games. "Hey Bridge."

"Hey Z."

Z must have noticed that I wasn't eating my toast, because she paused her game and turned to me. "What's up?"

"I don't know," I sighed. "Sky is acting like he drank a quart of melted margarine and pepto-bismal, and I just feel jumpy and weird. Something isn't right."

Z raised her eyebrows. "You think so, Sherlock?"

"Yeah, I do." I continued. "See, Sky doesn't like music. So the whole musical theater thing is totally idiosyncratic of him. I mean, he normally views himself as the ideal ranger; perfectly focused, on task and a brilliant cadet. He's a stickler for the rules, too. I mean--"

I was interrupted by Sky coming in singing, " I HAVE A DREAM, A SONG TO SING, TO HELP ME COPE WITH ANYTHING!" Z and I both cringed as Sky came and sat down on the couch between the two of us. "Come come my good fellows, why the long faces?" He laughed loudly and very fairy tale prince-ishly. I cringed again and Z's face contorted with repulsion. I guess she never liked fairy tales.

"Well, you know what they say," he said knowingly.

"Don't say it don't say it don't say it," Z and I chanted, our eyes closed. Just then, Syd and Jack walked in.

"Say what?" Syd asked curiously.

"NO!" Z and I screamed, eyes flying wide open. "RUN FOR IT!" We ran and vaulted head-first over the food counter, and not a moment too soon.

"ALWAYS LOOK ON THE BRIIIIGHT SIDE OF LIFE!"

"WHY SYD, WHY?!" Z was practically on the verge of tears, but then, I wasn't much better myself.

" SYDNEY, HOW COULD YOU?!" Z and I were squatted down and were both covering our ears, desperate to escape the evil that was Broadway.

"Hey, hey, hey," said Jack, coming in to break it up. "'Kay Sky, that's enough--"

"My name is Sir Lancelot, good sir, I am _not _this Sky that you speak of." he pulled out a sword from somewhere in his clunky armor. "En guard Monsieur!" He then proceeded to air duel an invisible foe, while Z and I peeked over the counter, looking like we were watching a tennis match, but where the tennis ball was going all over the place.

Jack looked away, toward the counter and sighed, then, to the wall, he said, "Honestly, what does a guy have to do around here to maintain some sanity?" Syd looked quizzically at him.

"Oooh," Z and I chorused, as Sir Sky slipped on the carpet and pretty much clothes-lined himself. "That's gotta hurt."

"All right," muttered Jack, still facing the wall. "I can see that we're going to need to take this up a notch." He walked over to Sky and, still diagonally facing the wall, grabbed him and threw him on the ground. "Now sit still and cool it Sky. Bridge, Z, help me hold him down. Syd, go get Doc Felix and DC." We all (except Syd, who was already running) dog-piled on Sky and held him down while he shrieked.

"THIS IS AN OUTRAGE! I _DEMAND _THAT YOU RELEASE ME AT ONCE YOU VILLAINS!"

"This is going to be a long day," I muttered to myself.


	3. Everyone Loves Landors

Dawn of the Personality-Challenged Power Rangers

By Holly-Batali and EvilDarkPurpleGirl

Disclaimer: We do not own Power Rangers, SPD, musical theater, sitcoms, Mexico, Goths (in all forms and terms), tree-huggers, germ phobia, Lysol (and other various cleaning products), or Puff the Magic Dragon. However, we _do _own Puffers the not-so-magical-as-much-as-polyester-fiber dragon.

Chapter 3: Everyone Loves Landors

Ah the wonders of being a teenage power ranger hiding in the ventilation of your own room.

The Sky Situation had gotten so bad that I only came out when he wasn't anywhere near the rec room or our room. As soon as he had perfected his hair in the light-studded floor length mirror he had set up in our room--complete with a picture of Christoper Seiber as Lancelot stuck into the corner of the mirror. _Finally _he dubbed himself "perfect" and left the room.

I breathed a sigh of relief and gently took out the grill in the ceiling. I jumped down and stretched, then I walked out into the rec room. swinging my arms criss-cross in front of me. Despite what some people may think, ventilation shafts aren't all that big, and you can get pretty claustrophobic up there--not to mention it's dead boring up there.

Z was playing video games again. This time she was on a beanbag though, facing the window, not really wanting to sit on a couch anytime soon. "Hey Z." I sighed, sitting down on the floor next to her.

"Hey Bridge."

We sat in silence for a few minutes, watching the boring industrial sunset of New Tech City.

It seemed like a long time before Sky went to bed (Z and I hiding safely behind the beanbag) and Sydney walked in and dragged Z off to go to bed. I stayed in the rec room a little while longer, just making sure that Sky was really asleep before I followed.

* * *

The next morning, Sydney, Z, and I were all sitting in our spot by the windows in the rec room, whispering as Sky practiced his swordplay in the middle of the room. 

"Do you think he'll snap out of it soon?" Asked Syd, glancing over at Sir Lance-a-Sky. "'Cause if Grumm sends out any goons soon and Sky is out of it, we're toast."

"Toast?!" I asked, suddenly alert, not having been listening to the conversation. "Sky might turn into toast?! That'd be really bad, 'cause I might accidentally eat him, then he'll be, like, dead, or or or... in toast...heaven or something--"

"Chill, Bridge," Z said in an exasperated tone. "Figure of speech."

"Oh," I said, relaxing. "Phew, that's a relief. 'Cause that really would've been bad..." I trailed off, because just then, Jack walked in, and all of our jaws--and Z's hand-held video game--dropped. Well, except for Theater Boy.

Jack was standing in a white dress shirt, black dress shoes and pants, and his hair was slicked back. He was carrying a brown leather briefcase. "Morning all," he called out to us, raising a hand in greeting.

"Jack?" Z asked slowly, "what's up with the suit?"

Jack gave her an exasperated look. "Now now Elizabeth, you know I have to go to work. Now be a good girl and go get ready for school. Bridger," he said, addressing me, "you need to get ready for school too. You're both going to be late!" We could only stare at him in shock. Elizabeth? _Bridger? _What on earth was wrong--

"Wait a butter-spreading second," I muttered, and, unaware of Syd's and Z's stares, I peeled off my right glove and scanned Jack's aura. Then I yelped and jumped behind the couch. "HIT THE DECK!" I shouted at Z and Syd. "NEVERMIND! ABANDON SHIP! REPEAT, ABANDON SHIP!!!" They all--Sky and Jack included--looked at me as if I had just suggested that we all eat whole-wheat muffins for breakfast from now on. I pointed a shaking finger at Jack. "He's...he's like Sky now! RUN FOR YOUR LIVES!!!" I added dramatically.

Jack sighed, drooping his head a bit, then shaking it. "Bridger, will you please just go get ready for school? Elizabeth," he said, turning to Z, "go tell your mother that she needs to pick you up after school today. You two are going shopping at the mall, right? And Bridger," me again, "don't forget that you have a rehearsal with the band today at Cord's house. You guys are almost ready for your big audition! Be careful with the guitar, and _don't break the amp!_ You've already gone through three."

He spotted Sydney. "Oh! Syd, there you are. I've got a meeting at lunch and after work today, so I'll be staying late at the office to write up my report." Sydney just stuttered a bit. "Bye honey," Jack said, kissing Syd on the cheek. "Have a nice day, kids!" he said to Z and I. He walked out of the room, briefcase swinging, whistling 'a merry tune.' Ugh, I never thought I'd have to say that.

Then we heard a voice from a stereo on the counter say, "We'll be right back with _Everyone Loves Landors, _so stick around folks!"

The girls and I stared at each other in utter horror.

"This isn't good," I said.

"No kidding," Syd agreed.

"We're screwed."

I think Z said it best of all of us.


	4. Broadway Dreaming

Dawn of the Personality-Challenged Power Rangers  
By Holly-Batali and EvilDarkPurpleGirl

Disclaimer: We do not own Power Rangers, SPD, musical theater, sitcoms, Mexico, Goths (in all forms and terms), tree-huggers, germ phobia, Lysol (and other various cleaning products), or Puff the Magic Dragon. However, we _do _own Puffers the not-so-magical-as-much-as-polyester-fiber dragon. Sky's SPAMALOT lyrics, of course, belong to SPAMALOT, including the little speech before the song.

Chapter 4: Broadway Dreaming

We were totally prepared.

We had everything we needed; emergency rations (a loaf of bread, a stick of butter, and chocolate muffins) and supplies (matches--for making toast--a pack of cards, morphers, my waffle iron, Z's video games, and notebooks; Z's white and black checkered Nascar one, and my standard issue SPD, covered in my stickers of Einstein, a bunch of mathematical equations, and a broken microprocessor duct taped to the cover).

We were even in camoflauge.

We were both in what looked like hand-me-down air force uniforms in a light blue, with matching helmets and chunky black combat boots. Both had carpet in the same color hot glued and duct taped to the backs and the helmets to blend in to our enviornment.

Our targets: Sky for me, Jack for Z.

Our location: the rec room floor.

Our mission: to find out what the toast was going on at SPD, and in the name of all that was good and buttery, we were going to find out.

We were both lying on our stomachs on the floor, ignoring the curious glances from C-Squad and D-Squad cadets, Z looking through her binoculars, while I was just plain looking _for _my binoculars. In all of my bag, I could _not _find them! It was driving me insane! "Ugh! What the toast!" I said through gritted teeth. "Z, where are my binoculars?" I whispered.

"How should I know? I'm not the one who packed your pack." she whispered back.

"Hey! That kind of rhymes!"

"Yeah, I guess... Wait, we need to stay focused!"

"Right! I'm all about focus, really; but do you think it's about time we break out the waffle iron? I'm starved."

"Yeah, me too. Maybe just some of the toast...Wait! Lance-a-Sky at eleven o'clock!"

Sure enough, there was my strange roommate emerging from his dressing room (our room, which he had pinned a hideous gold star on the door), attired in his usual--recently--knight costume and sword.

"Operation Excalibur, in effect!" I whispered, and army crawled away.

"Operation Sitcom, standing by," Z whispered back.

I waited until Sky left the room, then I tip-toed after him, armed with my gun. It looked like your standard AK-47, but really it was just a combination squirt gun and rubber-tipped styrofome dart shooter, both with seperate barrels. I had invented it myself, and it even had my green-rimmed number 3 on the handle.

Sky was humming ahead of me, then softly singing, "So long, so long, and thanks--for all the fish. The world's about to be destroyed..."

All I could think???

Fish? I didn't know Sky liked fish. Huh...

Oh, right! Focus!

Sky ducked into a storage room and I followed, still invisible to him. I hid behind some boxes.

I was being sneaky (I think) and so I risked nodding my head from side to side occasionaly. Believe it or not, Sky's got a great sense of rhythym. Not to mention a pretty decent voice. Wait--who was I kidding!? He was great!!! I never realized what a great voice he had, wow! Why didn't he normally like music? Now he was singing Party Fears Two, and dancing the Tango (or something like it, I think) to it. He was a star! Wait a second...focus! Okay...

Despite myself, I sang along under my breath, "we're standing still, you say I dress too well..." Oh muffins, I was going just as insane as Sky! WHEN WILL IT EVER END?!

Well, I honestly don't know, so while I pondered that--along with the true meaning of mayonaise--I sang along with Sky and tapped my foot, trying to stay sneaky.

* * *

"Report." 

It had been a long day and I was worn out. Physically _and _mentally.

Z pulled out her Nascar notebook and opened up to the first page, reading from a list she had made.

Operation Sitcom: 

1. Thinks he's the star of a sitcom called 'Everyone Loves Landors'.  
2. Thinks he lives in place called Jacksonville.  
3. Thinks he has two teenagers, Elizabeth and Bridger ("That's us.")  
4. Thinks he has a wife named Sydney. ("Really creepy.")  
5. Thinks he's an office executive working in foreign affairs.  
6. Thinks he has a house with five bedroom and four bathrooms. ("That'd be nice," "Yeah, tell me about it.")  
7. Thinks he's a Miami Dolphins fan.  
8. Thinks he enjoys classical.  
9. Thinks he doesn't like baseball or Nascar  
10. Thinks he enjoys going to the opera with 'Wife Sydney.'

"Okay Bridge, what've you got?" I pulled out my notebook with my very sloppy notes.

Operation Excalibur Notes

Sky has glued a hideous gold star to the bedroom door. He's even boxed up my _Extreme Upgrade _magazines 'cause they were 'in the way'! What the toast?! Now he's singing again. 'So long and thanks for all the fish? I didn't know Sky likes fish! Oh, he's going into a supply closet. Now he's singing...Party Fears Two. Hey! He's not so bad after all... Oh great, now he's _dancing! _Geez, he should listen to _real _music. Like Madness. Or Kaiser Chiefs or something. Oh, right! Focus... Hmmm chocolate muffins... I wonder what the real meaning of mayonaise is? I mean, was it even named after anyone, like the whole Earl of Sandwich thing? Lord Mayonaise of Turkey. Hey, that could be my name when I take over the world!

Z smacked her forehead with her hand, shaking her head. "We've got nothing."

"Oh, I wouldn't say that. We could have really stumbled across something big with the whole Lord Mayo of Turkey thing."

* * *

We were in the infirmiry with Commander Cruger and the other cadets from B-Squad. Dr. Felix was looking at Sky, just having finished with Jack. 

"Do any of you know what this is?" the commander asked us.

"No sir," we chorused unenthusiastically. I was looking at Sky. He looked kind of dissapointed. I wonder why?

"Sky, are you alright?"

He looked up at me. "Spiffing."

We all waited for some elaberation. We weren't dissabpointed. "I'm not sure if I'll make it to Broadway."

"Why not?" Asked Sydney and me in unison.

"Because," he said, "Broadway is a very special place, filled with very special people. People who can sing and dance--often at the same time! They are a different people, a multi-talented people. A people who need people, and who are, in many ways, the _luckiest _people in--the world. I'm sorry sir, but we don't have a chance!"

"We?" We all chorused in dread, and, too late, realized that this was all going to be a song.

"Why? You ask? Well, let me put it like this..."

We all groaned.

"In any great adventure, if you don't want to lose, victory depends upon the people that you choose. So listen Cruger, B-Squad, closely to this news: wewon't succeed on Broadway--if wedon't have any _Jews._"

"HEY!" I shouted.

He ignored me and continued with his song, which later, Z confirmed as SPAMALOT.

"You may have the finest sets, fill the stage with penthouse pets, you may even have the lovliest costumes and best shoes."

I could tell this wasn't going to stop anytime soon.


	5. Save the Aardvarks

Dawn of the Personality Challenged Power Rangers

By Holly-Batali and EvilDarkPurpleGirl

Disclaimer: We do not own Power Rangers, SPD, musical theatre, sitcoms, Mexico, Goths (in all forms and terms), germ phobia, Lysol (and other various cleaning products), or Puff the Magic Dragon. However, we _do _own Puffers the not-so-magical-as-much-as-polyester-fiber dragon.

Chapter 5: Save the Aardvarks

Z and I decided to go for the even sneakier approach. We were both dressed in long brown trench coats, black fedora hats and sunglasses. We looked like we had just stepped out of _The Maltese Falcon _or something. Well, I've never actually _seen _it, but, you know...

Anyway, we were standing there with our collars up to hide our real identity's (well, it usually works in the movies. Well, I think; I haven't actually ever seen those kind of movies but it _probably _works) waiting for Jack and Sky to show up. Operation Excalibur and Operation Sitcom weren't dead yet!

Jack came in first. I had actually built some transmitters to stick in the collar of the trench coats, and Z had sewn them in. Z talked into her mike.

"Subject approaching. Going towards command center; I'm trailing him now. Over." She walked brusquely towards Jack. I waited for Sky to come by. And waited; and waited some more. I walked over and sat on the couch to wait some more.

That's when Syd came in.

Well, she _seemed_ like Syd, but it _couldn't _be Syd! But by all that was toasted and buttered it _was!_

She walked in wearing a ripped up black tank top over a black and white striped shirt, a black miniskirt over black and white horizontally striped tights and tall black combat boots. She had un-Sydneyishly straight hair, lots of silver bracelets and necklaces, black nail polish, black lipstick, and tons of black eyeliner. She walked in with her thumbs in her belt loops and walked over to the CD player in the corner.

"Hey Bridge," she said, not even looking at me.

"Uh--uh uh..Hi um...Syd. What...happened?"

"Nothing happened," she said. "What do you want to listen to? The Smiths? Evanescence? Depeche Mode? I'll just put on HIM or Fort Minor or something. Maybe Megadeath?" What the toast was going on here? Sydney _hated _that kind of music! She was a pop girl! I mean, the hardest rock she ever listened to was _This is Such A Pity _by Weezer! Ever!

"Syd, are you feeling okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine, why?" She wasn't really listening, she was too busy mumbling the lyrics to _Girlfriend in A Coma _while she put in a Smiths CD.

"Because you never dress like this or listen to rock and stuff. I mean, you..." I wouldn't have been more surprised at Syd if she's gone to Kat and sung "I'm a D-Squad Cadet"!

I decided to read her aura.

I saw the same mix of colors as I saw in Sky and Jack, and I screamed and ran from the room. I skidded and kept running while trying to talk to Z. "Z, Z come in!"

"What is it Bridge?"

"SYD IS INSANE! SHE'S ONE OF _THEM_! RUN, SAVE YOURSELF!"

"Bridge! Calm down! Where is she?"

"She's in the rec room."

"Meet me outside the rec room in two minutes."

I sighed and walked back to the rec room, my shoulders hunched, head down. I really didn't want to go back there. I stopped dead as I almost ran into commander Cruger.

"Sorry Sir! I didn't see you sir!"

"Cadet Carson? What are you doing?"

"um...Well, you see Commander, Z and I are in disguise trying to find our what's going on with Sky and Jack and--"

"How would disguises--nevermind," he said shaking his head. "Continue."

"Well, Z went after Jack, and Sky didn't show up so I just waited and waited and waited and waited and--"

"Carson!"

"Alright! So then I got sick of standing and I sat down on the couch. Then Syd came in, and she's all dressed like...like, well a goth. And she's not herself and so I read her aura and she's like the others now! Z is meeting me outside the rec room in twenty-two seconds, and...well, she _should _be..."

"I'll come with you cadet; this is something I'll need to see this for myself."

Z met us outside the rec room, and we went in to find Syd sitting on the couch listening to Evanescence and reading _Goth Weekly. _

"Cadet Drew!"

Sydney just stared at him. "Yeah?"

"What do you think you're doing! You have duties to attend to."

"Yeah, you're right," she said, looking the commander straight in the eye. "I'm in charge of a rally this afternoon in NewTech Square. You guys should come, it's going to be history in the making. 'Save the Aardvarks!' I'm also making a speech later tonight about Global Warming; the CO2 output, aerosaul cans, factory pollution and such. Then tomorrow morning there's a bulldozing in the woods that I'm stopping. Me and fifty others are going to chain ourselves to trees to save the forest!"

Great. So now we have a Broadway singer, a sitcom star, and a gothic treehugger. What next?


	6. Documentary

Dawn of the Personality-Challenged Power Rangers  
By Holly-Batali and EvilDarkPurpleGirl

Disclaimer: We do not own Power Rangers, SPD, musical theatre, sitcoms, Mexico, Goths (in all forms and terms), germ phobia, Lysol (and other various cleaning products), or Puff the Magic Dragon. However, we _do _own Puffers the not-so-magical-as-much-as-polyester-fiber dragon.

Chapter 6: Dawn of the Personality-Challenged Power Rangers: The Documentary

Okay, so Sky, Jack, and Sydney were all stark raving mad. I can deal with that; not! Z and I were the only B-Squad rangers still sane in the entire compound, and we didn't even know what we were up against. I needed evidence; maybe that would help me plead insanity when I ended up murdering somebody.

I pulled out some of my old boxes and found the one marked 'movie' and pulled it out. Inside was my directors stool, my movie slate, my cool directors hat, a megaphone (the old-fashioned kind), a fake black mustache, and a video camera. I took it all in, feasting my eyes. "Perfect."

* * *

"Okay Z, here's what you do." 

"I know what to do Bridge, we only went over it a billion times."

"I know, but just in case--"

"Shut up, here he comes!"

Sure enough, here came Sky, walking out of our room in that ridiculous knight costume. Wow, I wonder how hard it would be to haul that to the Laundromat. "Okay, ready Z?"

"Oh yeah."

"And...action!" I whispered, straightening my hat and mustache. Z turned on the camera, filming Sir Lance-A-Sky as he whipped the air with his sword, then started fencing another imaginary foe. I was surprised he had so much energy so early in the morning; jeez, it was only eight o'clock!

"Here we are in the African-safari-like environment that is Space Patrol Delta, in New Tech City. What we have here is a fascinating specimen--if you're Doctor Felix or Dr. Kat Manx, anyway--who thinks that he is a Broadway star, playing Sir Lancelot!" I stopped talking to motion to Z to zoom in on Sky, who was saying, "Back foe, back! You shall not prevail today! I shall save the damsel in distress!"

I rolled my eyes and went back to chatting. "He was the first to go; now let's have a look at our next victim." I walked swiftly out of the rec room, followed by Z and the camera. She filmed me as I talked to the camera, walking backwards while I explained. I must have looked like a real professional; in my mustache, my fedora hat--which I salvaged from our last experiment--and a brown suit with a white shirt and bright lime green tie, and even black dress shoes! Lucky Sky had some in his closet; even though they _were _a little big.

"Now," I said as we moved through the hallways, Z filming my explanation, complete with a cool British accent. "Our next subject is Jack Landors, the SPD Red Ranger. He thinks that he is the star of his on sitcom, _Everyone Loves Landors, _now, of course, there is now sitcom, so it's blindingly obvious that yes, he is insane--oh, excuse me cadet," I said as I almost ran into some poor little D-Squader. "Ah, here he is," and I moved out of the way as Jack came into view.

He was talking on a cell phone (that undoubtedly had no service or battery power) saying, "no, no, no; I don't care about that report right now, we have a staff meeting this afternoon, and I still don't have those statistics; I need the tax incomes, the finance rates, the credit reports, the mortgages on the North side of the city..."

"Alright," I said, still talking in what I hoped was a British accent, "Now, Jack thinks that he lives in a nice house with his wife and two teenage kids, Bridger and Elizabeth," Z and I both shuddered, "but in fact, he lives in the middle of a police compound and doesn't even have a girlfriend, so that answers that question of sanity. "Now, on to Ms. Drew." I jogged out this time, calling out to Z over my shoulder.

"Now, Sydney Drew thinks she is a goth tree-hugger. She holds rally's in the city for Global Warming, Save the Whatever-Animal-of-the-Week-it-is and all that, while dressing like a total goth and listening to the Smiths. In "reality"," I made quotation marks in the air, "she's a pop girl who wears pink and spends ten minutes hairspraying her hair." I moved out of the way so Z could film Syd playing her guitar, covered in aardvark and nature stickers, singing folk songs.

After filming her for a moment, Z turned the camera to me, and I shook my head, letting out a deep sigh, "such a pity. Now," I brightened up, "let's go ask Commander Cruger what _he _thinks."

Z turned off the camera. "Okay, do you get the camera now?"

"Yep." We switched positions, me at the camera, and Z in front. She had come up with the perfect costume; she was in a bright yellow skirt and blazer, with a white shirt under it and black high heels. Her hair was nice and she even had a microphone like the reporters have on the news.

"How do I look?" she asked.

"Like Katie Couric, now let's go!" We turned around just as Commander Cruger walked up.

"Commander!" said Z, getting his attention. Then she held out the microphone to him, me filming it all. "Commander Cruger, what do you think of all the strange happenings in B-Squad here at SPD Earth?"

"Cadet Delgado, what are you and Cadet Carson up to now--wait...Do I _want _to know?"

"Um, Sir; is it true that three of your cadets have gone insane? Are the yellow and green rangers--who are not us--," she whispered, "the only sane rangers left?"

The commander sighed and shook his head. "I used to know why I started SPD Earth. In fact, I used to have some sanity; not to mention peace and quiet." And with that, he walked off, leaving us with some editing to do.

"Well that sucked," said Z after i had turned off the camera.

"Oh I don't know, it was kind of fun to dress up...Um; again." She just looked at me and rolled her eyes, then walked off. I waited for a second, then followed. "Z? Um, Z; hey Z wait up!"


	7. The Weird, Absurd, and Only the Bizarre

Dawn of the Personality Challenged Power Rangers

By Holly-Batali and EvilDarkPurpleGirl

Disclaimer: We do not own Power Rangers, SPD, musical theatre, sitcoms, Mexico, Goths (in all forms and terms), germ phobia, Lysol (and other various cleaning products), or Puff the Magic Dragon. However, we _do _own Puffers the not-so-magical-as-much-as-polyester-fiber dragon.

Chapter 7: The Weird, the Whole Absurd, and Nothing But the Bizarre

Ah, finally, it was Saturday. I don't know why this would matter, but it was the week_end, _not the week, so it was different; not really, but still. I had been spending so much time in the ventilation shaft above mine and Sky's room that I had even personalized it a bit. I had a lamp up there (my cool green one with the dragons painted on and the various computer parts on the lampshade), several notebooks, lots of dirty dishes (mostly plates for toast and waffles), a few blankets (the boring standard-issue SPD ones; at least they're green), my CD player (a Christmas/Hanukkah present from Z), and Puffers the not-so-magical-as-much-as-polyester-fiber dragon. He's green too; he's a floppy stuffed animal that always stays sitting. He has the small stubby limbs, with the shiny fabric wings, the big black eyes, the sewn on nostrils, and the funny ears. He's about as big as a cat, and he's better than Peanuts, Syd's stuffed elephant. Actually, sometimes the two of them have play dates; you know, like when we're out on a long mission and they might get bored or something.

I hopped up into my special hideout, set down a fresh plate of toast, and said, "Morning Puffers; did you sleep well?" I picked him up and stared at him. I remember thinking about telling Sky about Puffers, but I wisely decided against it. Sky just wouldn't understand, being the uptight, egocentric neat freak that he is.

I ate my toast and read through my bath book, just because I was bored. "Well Puffers," I said to him, lying on my back staring at the ceiling, "I'm running out of ideas. Z and I are the only sane ones left in B-Squad, and I still don't know what's causing all this." I turned my head to look at him, "any suggestions?" He just stared back at me in that bored, lifeless, patient way of his.

So we had a a few staring contests for the next hour or so.

I finally dropped down out of the ventilation, deciding that I was going to see Z; maybe she had some ideas. When I got to her room, she wasn't there; neither was Syd... Hm...that was odd. I checked the rec room, and as usual, there were a few people there. Jack was eating lunch, looking over some figures on a paper; Sky was pacing the room. actually it looked more like strutting. Syd was playing her guitar, singing Fairytale (supposedly some Sarah Bareilles song she likes. I don't know, I never really listen to what she says now-a-days.) Z wasn't there.

"Hey Syd," I said tentatively, coming up to her. "Have you seen Z anywhere? I can't find her; I looked in your room--just through the door, I didn't go in, don't worry about it--and um, I looked in here, and I looked when I was going between rooms and-and um... yeah."

"No, I haven't seen her anywhere!" she looked like she was high or something; she had this spacey look in her eyes, and she kept doing these little head movements. "Whoa, dude," she said, "you should totally come to the rally tonight; the theme is 'Save the Bell Peppers'!"

Sky snorted loudly. "Oh please; is that the best you could come up with?"

"Whoa, bad karma!" Syd said in that cheerleader sort of 'what_ever_' voice.

"No, seriously," said Sky, leaning on his sword, which was pointed into the carpet, one foot behind the other, all his weight on his standing foot. "That has got to be the _lamest _slogan ever. Thou hast zero dignity. Or brain cells."

Syd looked away from him, raising her eyebrows and blinking a few times. She held up her right hand towards him. "Lance, I'm ignoring your negative energy."

"O-kay," I said, backing away. Just before I left the rec room, Z walked in. And I groaned. "Z!" I whined, "not you too!"

"I beg your pardon?" She asked, looking at me through rectangular eyeglasses.

"Oh come on!" I yelled, stomping my foot. "Is this because I stole that chocolate muffin from the kitchens last month?" I yelled at the ceiling. "WELL? IS IT?!"

"Mr. Carson," objected Z, "would you please control yourself!" She placed her hands on her hips. She was wearing a chocolate brown blazer and skirt, with a white shirt, tights, black heels, the whole Belgian waffle.

"Let me guess," I said, pointing at her, smiling in that I've-finally-lost-it way, giving a small laugh, "lawyer. Businesswoman? Executive?"

"_Highly respected_ lawyer, I'll have you know. And it's _Ms_. Delgado, not Z."

"Great," I said, letting my hands fall to my sides. "Great. Just...fantastic." I laughed a little, knowing I sounded--and was--completely bonkers. "I'll just be _BEING NORMAL IN MY LITTLE VENT! NORMAL COMPARED TO _YOU _GUYS!" _Then I ran to my room and hopped up into the vent.

It was there where I leaned against the wall and looked at Puffers, who was sitting just opposite me. "Oh Puffers," I sighed. "You are _so _unbelievably lucky to be a stuffed animal."


	8. Wafflestein

Dawn of the Personality Challenged Power Rangers

By Holly-Batali and EvilDarkPurpleGirl

Disclaimer: We do not own Power Rangers, SPD, musical theatre, sitcoms, Mexico, Goths (in all forms and terms), germ phobia, Lysol (and other various cleaning products), or Puff the Magic Dragon. However, we _do _own Puffers the not-so-magical-as-much-as-polyester-fiber dragon.

Chapter Eight: Wafflestein

Okay, so now I was the only semi-sane one in B-Squad. Well that's just _great! _Please don't think I wasn't being sarcastic there, because I most definitely _was. _Fist Sky, then Jack, Syd, and now Z. Was I next? If I was...well, then crap. If not, _still _crap!

"Do you have...a three? No? Okay, you're turn."

You know, playing cards with a stuffed dragon is kind of one-sided. At least the staring contests were fairly competitive. After another hour or so of go fish, I called it quits ("You win again Puffers; chocolate muffins you're good!") and headed to Kat's lab.

Kat and Boom were working on some sort of robot thing, but Kat gave up for the moment when commander Cruger called for her, asking her to come to the command center to look at some malfunctioning grid systems.

"This might take a while guys," she said to Boom and me, "so please, please _please _don't blow anything up while I'm gone, okay?" We both groaned like fifth graders with lots of "aw Kat"s and "Come on"s. 

So, of course, as soon as she walked out of the door--with low expectations, I'm pretty sure--Boom and I scrambled to the safety goggles (safety first, kids!) and the welders.

* * *

After eight hours of hurried but brilliant work, Boom and I pulled the lever. Sure, we'd had to call down to the desk and make up tasks that needed Kat's immediate attention so she wouldn't come back too soon. Sparks flew, lights turned on and off as the power went into our marvelous invention. 

"IT'S ALIVE!" I screamed, throwing my hands up in the air. Boom and I laughed maniacally as electricity flowed into our wonderful contraption. 

Finally, it was done!

The greatest waffle iron ever built, and I was a sharer in the patent.

Of course, it was certainly hard to make the commander and Kat and the rest of B-Squad appreciate the sheer genius when the power shut down.

Oops.

* * *

Yes, I know, it's certainly a well-known fact that hand-washing socks is fairly unpleasant, but this was bellow the seven-tablespoons-mark on the butter wrapper. Boom and I actually got set to doing all the laundry for the base for a day; _by hand. _Ugh; if I saw another sock, glove, or...or whatever, ever again, then I was going to go crazy. Uh-oh; that's not such a great thought around here.

_Think happy thought, think happy thoughts. think nice, buttery, happy thoughts..._

I tried to keep this line of thought as I washed and dried continueously. I certainly appreciated the laundry people not that I was _literally _washing my now socks. And I wasn't liking the independance.

* * *

Author's Note: Yes, I know, it's short. But please review anyway.


	9. Bedbugs

Dawn of the Personality Challenged Power Rangers

By Holly-Batali

Disclaimer: We do not own Power Rangers, SPD, musical theatre, sitcoms, Mexico, Goths (in all forms and terms), germ phobia, Lysol (and other various cleaning products), or Puff the Magic Dragon. However, we _do _own Puffers the not-so-magical-as-much-as-polyester-fiber dragon.

Chapter Nine: Bedbugs

I knew I shouldn't have gone to bed right after watching _Nosferatu _with Puffers. Normally, I'd have watched it with Z, but...well, you know. But I did anyway, and this was my punishment. I ran for my already-toasted life from the evil count and his army of... _BEDBUGS?!_

I stopped in my tracks and turned around. _Bedbugs? What the toast?! _I woke with a start. I knew that your dreams reflected on your day or whatever, but... _bedbugs? _Well, stranger things had happened; I mean, just look at Sky. His head is huge (ego-wise) and he can still walk, right? Hey, that's all I'm saying. "Don't shoot the messenger," I mumbled to myself as I ran a hand through my messy hair. I yawned and walked into the bathroom; my mouth tasted like mayonnaise, and it was really bugging me. I yawned and wiped my sweaty hands on my blue plaid pajama pants and my green SPD shirt. I blinked at my reflection in the mirror as I flicked on the light--and gasped. Was it my imagination, or was the mirror covered in little microscopic...things? _Germs..._ I whimpered and ran from the room.

* * *

I stood in my room in a white bio-hazard suit and surveyed the chaos. I was armed with Lysol, Windex, a high-powered vacuum, garbage bags, a portable incinerator (_my _invention, by the way), and other various cleaning products. I glanced at Puffers, who was sitting on my bed (or rather, the white sheet _covering _my bed) in his own little bio-hazard suit, his arms sticking out in the front.

"All right Puffers," I said. "Let's roll." I snapped down my visor and went to work.

I cleaned _everything. _I cleaned the windows, the walls, the floor, the beds, the _books..._ toast, I even cleaned the toothpaste tube! I couldn't believe how many germs there were in there! I mean, average germ-iness, sure... but _this--this _was inexcusable. I could hardly even see through the thick grey haze of chemicals, cleaning products, dust, and dirt. _I _knew _the suit would come in handy..._

So, after this, I stripped down the room and sent it all to the cleaners in case of bedbugs. Just to be safe.

* * *

It felt so good to be in a clean room. It felt good to be clean period. I breathed in the beautiful clean scent of Windex and Febreeze as I strapped on my new utility belt over my uniform. It was standard black with lots of pockets. It was a bit like Syd's, but instead of samples of iron and brick and stuff, I had easily accessible cans of Lysol, Windex, Febreeze, Scrubbing Bubbles, hydrogen peroxide, and rubbing alcohol. I also had a Velcro pouches. One with a ton of cotton balls, one with Q-Tips, one with Kleenex, one with disinfectant wipes, one with a Mr. Clean scrubber-sponge thingy, one with a (clean) duster, one with a few granola bars (hey, you never knew when you'd get hungry on the job), and even one with those plastic masks that the doctors wear. I even had a pouch for the latex gloves. I took my heavy rubber gloves and attached them to the belt, took one o Sky's spare sheaths (after I carefully disinfected it, of course) and stuffed a toiled brush in it.

I was the envy of janitors everywhere.

* * *

I walked through the halls wearing my safety goggles (the cool plastic ones!) and wearing my newly cleaned black gloves (the ones I usually wear, that is). I ignored the weird stares I got and kept on walking. In fact, I had even put on one of those small backpacks, except, instead of books in it, I had Puffers the-not-so-magical-as-much-as-polyester-fiber dragon. I walked with purpose towards the zord bay. Once there. I walked brusquely to my zord, where I proceeded to scrub it down by hand.

I was so absorbed with my task that I didn't realize when Commander Cruger, Kat, Boom, and Dr. Felix came in. They just lined up by my zord and stared at me. I was on the roof of my zord, scrubbing away, up to my elbows in soap bubbles. Which is actually saying a lot seeing as though I was on a flat surface.

"Cadet Carson," DC called up to me. I jumped, but plowed right on with my task.

"Yes sir!" I replied.

"What are you doing?"

"Cleaning sir!"

"Isn't that the janitors job?" asked Boom, clueless as always.

I stopped scrubbing and stood up, wiping my forehead with my arm. I jumped down to the ground so I could wring out my massive sponge. "Yeah, it is," I agreed. "But the janitors don't get all the germs and everything off, so it's not really clean. Just think," I said, looking up, pretty sure that I had the 'Maniacle Glint' in my eyes. Probably the same one that Rodion Romanovich Raskolnikov had in _Crime and Punishment. _Except I was trying to kill bacteria, not landladies or whatever.

"These germs," I went on passionately, "are invading our lives, and our homes, and our _toasters _for butters sake!" I paused, my voice cracking with pent-up emotion. "I mean, they're in the butter! The _BUTTER!"_ I felt like Hitler, a real disinfectant Nazi. "We must put a stop to it! If we don't put down our foot, or...our foots--or our FEET then where will the line ever be drawn!"

What I don't get is why they called in security to drag me off in a straitjacket. But I didn't go quietly, no... I went out with a bang. While the Commander and his flock of pathetic sheep just shook their heads, I was already plotting revenge. I was plotting, oh yes...plotting. But I couldn't let them know! So I shouted over my shoulder as I struggled against my three security escorts, "THEY'RE IN THE BUTTER! THE _**BUTTER**_!"

* * *

Author's Note: Well, poor Bridge is now germaphobic and a madman. I _LOVE _BEING EVIL!! MWAH HAH HAH! Okay, I'm done...for now. Anyway, think of Bridge now like Renfield from _Dracula_, or even Rodion from _Crime and Punishment_; evil and brilliant! IT'S ALIVE!


	10. Psychology

Dawn of the Personality Challenged Power Rangers

By Holly-Batali and EvilDarkPurpleGirl

Disclaimer: I do not own Power Rangers, SPD, musical theatre, sitcoms, Mexico, Goths (in all forms and terms), germ phobia, Lysol (and other various cleaning products), or Puff the Magic Dragon. However, I_ do _own Puffers the not-so-magical-as-much-as-polyester-fiber dragon. I DO NOT OWN THE LYRICS TO BRIDGE'S SONG!! MOOSEBUTTER DOES. SEE FOR DETAILS. NOT MINE!

Chapter Ten: Psychology

They may have taken my utility belt. They may have replaced my uniform with the standard navy blue jail uniform and combat boots. They may have deprived me of toast. They deprived me of Puffers, the only one who truly understood me. But I still had my sanity, oh yes... I was still brilliant, and they could never make me like them. I threw back my head and laughed maniaclly, just for good measure. I also still had an extra toothbrush, which I had sneakily snitched from the supply bin on my way in. I knelt down, my nose touching the laminate floor of my cell, and scrubbed carefully at the floor.

"The germs will die. . . and I will rule over all of the Clean People," I muttered slowly and quietly to myself. Then I saw a patch of dirt on the floor in front of the door. "SPOT!" I screamed, my eyes going crazy. "DIE SPOT, DIE!" I scrambled over on my hands and knees and bent down, scubbing feverishly.

I may seem insane, but I was brilliant. Oh, yes... I was plotting...yes, plotting. I would have justice. "IIIIIII looovveee myyyyy tiiiiiilllllle," I sang, cunningly covering up my genius with this brilliant disguise of a madman. I had an idea; a brilliant, cunning idea that only I, I with my impecable genius could concoct:

I would sing.

Sing like a gecko... or a cupcake... Sing--about TILE!

I love my tile!!  
Use a toothbrush, scrub it clean,  
Make it shiny so that it reflects your smile.  
And when I'm through,  
Go outside and scrub the hallway  
Where somebody scuffed it with their tennis shoe!

I sang and sang and sang. Hopefully, they would take me to talk to Dr. Felix, so I could gain more secrets, hear more private conversations between the commander and the doctors. They were hiding something, oh, yes...hiding. Hiding like a coconut...

Pizza.

Comes from an Italian spot cooked in ovens blazing hot with tile in their belly  
And your mothers brand new kitchen floor has high-tech fancy tile galore so messy spills won't rot and get smelly.  
If we had no tile, we'd have no (insert things with tile, spoken)  
If we had no tile, we'd have no fast food restraunts to make us food...

* * *

It worked.

Yes, of course...it was my genius that concocted it, my brilliant mind... of course it worked. I cackled evilly, just the 'Brilliant Maniacal Future-World-Dictator' effect. Yes, the more I decieved them, the better. Oh, yes...

They had come in and strapped me ino my 'strait-waistcoat', as they say in _Dracula, _and dragged me off to Dr. Felix. He was no Dr. Seward, oh, no... he wasn't smart enough, not brilliant enough. Though, of course, neither was Dr. Seward, really, so that kind of ruins the effect... Oh well.

They sat me down in the chair opposite the good doctor, taking off my straitjacket. I placed my calmly clasped hands in my lap, my face neutral and professional.

Dr. Felix waited until his assistants had left, then sighed sadly and asked, "how are you, Cadet?"

"Splendid, Doctor; just splendid. I hope you I find you in good health?"

He seemed surprised at my straight face; cool, formal, contolled manner; my impressive language... heh...heh...heh...

"Just fine, Cadet, just fine."

I paused a moment, then courteously inclined my head in his direction. "I hope you'll forgive me, but I haven't much small talk today. I'm afraid I haven't the satisfaction and contentment of knowing the weather this undoubtedly fine day, and I know of no 'goings-on', as they say."

"Of course, of course." he said, still stunned. "Of course."

He seemed to shake himself, regain his professional manner, so to speak. "How are you feeling Cadet? I hope you're not uncomfortable?"

"Not at all, good doctor, not at all. My room is quite to my liking, thank you."

"And your health? Any headaches? Nausea? Hunger pains?"

"No no, not at all." and before I could stop myself, I added, "though some toast would be nice." _Toast it! Toast it to the mudcourse and back again! _I laughed, "a joke, doctor."

"Ah, I see." He fidgeted, clearly uncomfortable. "I see from the report my assistant gave me that you just had sudden...outburst."

"Ah, yes," I said intellegently. "Yes, we all have our ways of expression, now don't we good doctor? It was nothing, I assure you. I'm quite well."

"Well, we're going to er--observe your, um, behavior, for a short time. I hope this meets your approval?"

"Ah, yes, of course. For, as the Chinese say, 'you cannot help shoots grow by pulling them up', am I not correct doctor?" He nodded dazedly. "Yes, for life is fleeting, and we must gain knowledge, not only for ourselves, but for the sake of our practice and our passion."

"Yes, very good," he said, "well, I'll go on ahead and send you back to your cel-room," he caught himself conspicuously, "your room, yes."

"Thank you, good doctor. It was nice to speak with you. I hope to see you again soon. Good day, doctor." I bowed and walked myself out. I smirked as I heard him let out a whoosh of air, stunned. They were decieved, good...well, for now, I had to observe. To once more quote the Chinese, 'if you do not climb the mountain, you will not see the plain.' How do I know all this weird stuff anyway? It's all of bunch of waffle. Mmmm...blueberry Belgian waffles...ooooohhh. Yum. I inwardly groaned at the thought of no toast while I was here. How the toast was I going to survive?! What was I going to eat, my toothbrush!? Sheesh!

* * *

Authors Note: Review, please. Big thanks, by the way, to Terrific Tina, PinkRangerV, Blue November, Ghostwriter, SierraTangoCharlie and Bouken Spirit for the fabulous reviews! BUTTERY TOAST FOR EVERYONE!


	11. Puzzles

Dawn of the Personality Challenged Power Rangers

By Holly-Batali and EvilDarkPurpleGirl

Disclaimer: We do not own Power Rangers, SPD, musical theatre, sitcoms, Mexico, Goths (in all forms and terms), germ phobia, Lysol (and other various cleaning products), or Puff the Magic Dragon. However, we _do _own Puffers the not-so-magical-as-much-as-polyester-fiber dragon.

Chapter Eleven: Puzzles

Okay, so that plan didn't exactly work. Sure, I had some fun. But I learned squat. I was feeling a little more like myself today--despite the fact that I was scrubbing the door hinges with a toothbrush, I mean. What was wrong with that though? In fact...

I stopped scrubbing. Why _was _I scrubbing? I hated to clean! I stood up and shook my head, throwing down my toothbrush. I had a _killer _headache! I rubber my temples with my left hand just as the commander, Kat, and Dr. Felix walked by. "Oh, hey guys!" I said with a smile, letting my hand fall to my side. "What's up? And..." I looked around me. "Why am I in a cell? With a...straitjacket in the, um, corner?"

They just looked at me like a bunny looks at an oncoming train. I waited, and then Doc Felix said to me, "Cadet Carson? How are you feeling?" Well that was kind of a weird question, but then again, he _was _a doctor.

"Actually, now that you mention it," I made a face that Syd calls my Bridge-is-going-to-make-an-impossible-to-understand-statement-that-none-of-us-is-going-to-understand face. I wonder why she calls it that? "I have this headache that won't go away, and I've been cleaning the door hinges with a toothbrush and I don't know why and I'm in a cell, so I'm kind of confused, and the last thing I remember is watching _Nosferatu _with Puff--I mean, by myself, and I can't figure out why my mouth tastes like mayonnaise, and I'd kind of like to know. Other than that though, I'm fine, thanks for asking! How are you guys doing?" I smiled and folded my arms, waiting for an answer.

They just stared at me. "Kat," said the commander out of the corner of his mouth, "I want you and Dr. Felix to run a brain scan on Bridge. A full MRI as well. I want this thing sorted out once and for all, is that clear?"

"Yes sir," the other two said in unison. Then they came into the cell and took me by the arms. Well, Doc Felix did, anyway. Kat went over to the corner and grabbed the straitjacket. "Just in case," she said carefully. They strapped me in and carried me out of the cell.

We walked down the hall, past the gossiping cadets who were staring at me. We walked up past Boom, who stared at me, oggling.

"You're not crazy!?"

"Of course I am," I answered bluntly. "I always am. Well, according to Jack, Sky, Z, and Syd, anyway. Do you know why I've been in a cell and am now in a straitjacket? 'Cause no one's telling me."

Boom fell in stride with the rest of us as we walked down the hall. "Well," Boom said, "see, the others are acting weirder now; they're acting _normal_!"

I gasped. "NO WAY!"

"I'm just kidding you," Boom said with a laugh, and I laughed along with him. The others acting normal? Puh-lease!

* * *

After my 'scans', they led me back to my cell, where I sat down and counted ceiling tiles--which might have been interesting IF THERE WERE ANY CEILING TILES!! Gyah! I was so bored! I picked up the icky toothbrush and started scrubbing the floor, just because I was bored.

But then it happened again. That killer headache. I rubbed my head again, trying to get rid of it. I stopped scrubbing, and held my head; this hurt like toast! I started seeing things in my head. There were all these swirls of color, and in between these, I saw stuff like me scrubbing my zord, Sky fencing the empty air, Z debating with Syd about global warming while Syd played folk songs on her guitar, and Jack at an empty conferance table, explaining a pie chart. What... oh, wait. They all went crazy! But...what about me? Oh yeah! The cleaning thing! But, I felt fine now.

Actually, now that I thought about it, I _didn't _feel fine, I had this BURNING desire to scrub toilets. And my mouth still tasted like mayonnaise! Ugh! WHAT THE TOAST! I threw the toothbrush against the wall and stalked around, arms folded behind my back, glaring.

So...I'd seen these--_visions, _but what was I supposed to do with them? Well, until I figured that out--I gasped. _Puffers! _What had happened to Puffers!? Then I sighed. I'm afraid Puffers would have to wait. I needed to figure this out. _I'm SPD, that's what I do..._

What if..."HOLY BLUEBERRY BELGIAN WAFFLES!" I exclaimed. _A premonition! It _had _to be! What else _could _it be!? _But...I had already seen those things, so how could it be a premonition?

When they brought in my dinner--"they" being Dr. Felix and his assistant--I asked Doc what what going on; had he gotten the test results back?

"No, I haven't got the results yet. Be patient, Bridge; if I have to wait, you have to wait. Besides, we're going to need some time to figure out what we get back. I have a feeling that it's going to be pretty strange."

_And in the meantime, I needed to figure out this "vision" thing..._

I sighed heavily. "Well, how long until I can see them?"

"I'd give it about a week."

_A week! _What the toast was I going to do for the next _week! _I groaned. "Okay," I sighed. "So, in the meantime...can I clean some toilets? Please?"

* * *

Authors Note: Yes, Bridge has regained SOME sanity. But then again, he still is a CLEAN FREAK. So, let's hope the janitors can use an assistant for the next week.


	12. Boredom Of Course

Dawn of the Personality Challenged Power Rangers

By Holly-Batali and EvilDarkPurpleGirl

Disclaimer: We do not own Power Rangers, SPD, musical theatre, sitcoms, Mexico, Goths (in all forms and terms), germ phobia, Lysol (and other various cleaning products), or Puff the Magic Dragon. However, we _do _own Puffers the not-so-magical-as-much-as-polyester-fiber dragon.

Chapter Twelve: Boredom...what else?

They agreed to let me scrub the toilets, but only with adult supervision (thanks, weird janitor guy). I was still in a cell, but a nicer one. This time, I got a bed, a chair, a desk, and a shelf. They even let me have little hotel-samples of soap, shampoo, and a mini bottle of Lysol! Plus, I got Puffers back, who was now sitting on my shelf. I sat on the floor and tinkered happily with a broken toaster Boom had brought this afternoon. He said that he couldn't find out what was wrong with it; but really, it was pretty simple once you just connected the red wires to the respective sockets and...

_KABOOM! _

I was so surprised when the toaster exploded that I just sat there. A minute later, Kat, Boom, Cruger, and Doc F. came running in. They stared at me with shocked expressions as they took in my blackened hands and face, my crazy hair, my astonished expression.

"Wow," I said, my eyes wide and staring as I examined the burning rubble in my lap; the sad remains of the once-a-toaster. I repressed a shutter at how dirty it must be. "I guess I put it in the wrong socket."

I vaguely registered Cruger sighing and shaking his head; Doctor Felix slapping his forehead; and Kat glaring at Boom, who gave a shaky laugh and glanced away guiltily.

* * *

"FREE AT LAST! I AM FREE AT LAST!"

"Shut _up _Sky!" Syd screamed.

"NEVER!!" He screamed at the top of his lungs. " TO BE LIKE EAGLES WHEN THEY RIDE UPON THE WIND AND TASTE THE SWEETEST TASTE OF FREEDOM FOR MY SOUL!"

"SKY, _SHUT UP_!" Jack screamed.

"THEN I'D BE FREE AT LAST, FREE AT LAST--"

"_SKY!! SHUT UP_!!" We all screamed.

"Well, sor_ry," _he huffed angrily, folding his arms and sulking. "It's not _my _fault you're all a bunch of tone-deaf, louse-eared--"

Syd groaned. "Drama queen."

"I am not!" he yelled at her. "I'm _special!" _

"Yeah right!" screamed Syd. "Does your _mom _tell you that?"

"You--you--you--you--you're just jealous!" he stammered. "My mom is way cooler than yours!"

"YOU LEAVE MY MOTHER OUT OF THIS!" Syd screamed at him.

"NO I WILL NOT!" Sky pouted, his eyes getting red and puffy. I had a feeling that Z was going to milk this for all it was worth once we were back to normal. Speaking of Z...

"This is ridiculous," she fumed, stomping up in her tan heels, pushing up her black glasses and straightening her tight bun of hair. "It's childish, it's foolish; will you two simply grow up!"

Ouch. Harsh.

That just about put Sky over the edge. "YOU GROW UP!" He yelled, tears spilling down his cheeks.

"Sky, relax," Jack said. "Breath, Broadway-Boy, breath."

"Breath, right...breath." Sky seemed to calm down a bit after that. He looked up, trying to regain some composure. Then he smiled. "Right, I'm absolutely fine now. Well, I'm glad I can stay calm, if no one else can." The rest of us simeltaneously groaned and rolled our eyes.

Just then (feeling the suspense yet?) I got another Movie Clip (my little precognitions--or would it be postcognition?): we were all sitting on the floor in the rec room, going over one of Jack's ridiculous pie charts. He saw his own left eye twitching (probably because of the germs floating around my face) and my right hand itching towards the Lysol at my belt. Jack was explaining (with a laser pointer too!) about changes in personality that could be due to stress, boredom, yada yada yada.

_Wait one butter-spreading second!_

"THAT'S IT!" I shouted, causing the others to jump and stare at me. "Hey, Jack,"

Jack was sitting on a bench, reading this morning's edition of the _SPD Times. _"Yes son?"

I took a moment to roll my eyes. "Whatever. Listen; I think you should hold a meeting." Boy, _that _got his attention. "On the weird behavior stuff. You know; what's causing it and all that cra--I mean...all that technical and fascinating stuff that we all love so much." Quick save, eh?

His eyes lit up. "Yeah," he said slowly. "That's a wonderful idea Bridger. I'm glad that you're finally taking an interest in the family business! Come on gang!" Oh for toast's sake; what was this, Scooby Doo?

* * *

Authors Note: Yes, I took a freaking long time. Yes, it's short. _But _yes, I've already started Chapter Thirteen, and it'll be soon and longer. Happy? Buttery toast for everyone.


	13. Why I Never Went to Business School

Dawn of the Personality-Challenged Power Rangers  
By Holly-Batali

Disclaimer: We do not own Power Rangers, SPD, musical theatre, sitcoms, Mexico, Goths (in all forms and terms), germ phobia, Lysol (and other various cleaning products), or Puff the Magic Dragon. However, we _do _own Puffers the not-so-magical-as-much-as-polyester-fiber dragon.

Chapter Thirteen: Why I Never Went to Business School in the First Place

"Okay team, let's review the facts: we've all had personality changes that, apparently, can't be explained; we have absolutely no idea how or why this happened; we..."

I blinked hard to keep myself awake. My head slipped off my hand and I almost cracked my head on the polished wooden tables. i was slouched in my chair with my feet up on the table, trying not to nod off while Jack stood to the side of the screen, pointing at various pie graphs with his red laser pointer. Wow, I never thought this idea would be _that _bad.

Guess that's why I'm not the Big Blue Dog, huh?

I had suggested this so that we could listen to the facts being laid out; maybe that would help trigger some memory that could help. What? It could happen!

Sheesh.

I figured that that's how I got those "visions" in the first place; something had triggered some other memory and my powers had sort of gone haywire and that's why I remembered it all. Wow, glad I got it all out there.

"Okay team," Jack was saying again. "Let's list out our ideas, all right? Why...are...we...going...crazy," he wrote out in large, deliberate letters on the big sheet of white paper he had up front. Then he turned to the rest of B-Squad. "Ideas?" Nothing. "Anyone?"

"Maybe..." Syd started slowly, "it's food poisoning." Jack nodded and wrote it down, relieved that _someone _had contributed.

"Sky?" he asked, his back still turned towards us.

'Sky' rolled his eyes, annoyed. "It's _Lancelot. _Honestly, how many times do I have to correct you?"

"All right," Jack said with a heavy sigh, "'Lancelot'. Any ideas?"

Sky shrugged. "Could be anything. Might be extreme boredom. Could be brainwashing. I dunno, I'm a knight, not a shrink." I looked sideways at him, raising my eyebrows. _Amen._ Boy, Lanceasky as a shrink would be pretty scary. I'd never go to therapy again. I mean, not that I already _did, _but _if _I did, then I wouldn't go to Sky. Or Lancelot. Or, as the case is now, both. Because Sky is Lancelot; or, he thinks he is but he really isn't unless he's really right and we're all wrong. Assuming that it's not just me, that is. Because it could be that I think he's not Lancelot, but one of the others does, or two, or three, or any number of anyone else here or anywhere because somebody somewhere else might have heard about it and have some opinions on it. But then again, everyone really has an opinion whether they really think it or not, or if they're sort of subconcsiencly having an opinion or maybe just saying something that's their opinion but they don't really know it and are just talking or not their opinion at all and they're just talking or maybe just saying it because somebody else did or--

"Maybe it's from exhaustion," Z said, startling me violently from my thoughts. I yelped and slipped out of my swivel chair. I crashed to the floor and it rolled back behind me.

"I'm okay," I yelled, heavily relying on the table to get myself up.

"Exhaustion?" asked Syd curiously, her attention all on the wannabe lawyer.

"Yes," said Z primly. "Mental and physically. Cadets at the Space Patrol Delta Academy, in Newtech City, have a rigorous training schedule and not nearly enough calorie intake or rest to keep up with it..."

I spaced out again as Z pulled up medical records and statistics and all that crap. I might have had patience for it some time, but I sure didn't now. It was way too boring. I mean, who really cares about some dumb medical sticky-note saying so-and-so collapsed. Those stupid doctors write _everything _down.

"HOLY STUPID IDEA, BATMAN!" I yelled at the top of my lungs. I sprang to my feet and pointed up with my index finger in the 'ah-ha!' posture. They all jumped at my exclamation and I turned to them, ready to explain.

"Don't you see? I was thinking about the whole thing where doctors usually write down everything even it's just a bunch of useless junk, and since I have all these stupid thoughts and ideas, well, that's where I get _all _of my thoughts. So if I can just write everything down as I think it and so that way I'll be able to know what I'm actually thinking instead of it just sort of going in one ear and out the other, even though it can't really just go _in _to one ear since it's a thought and not a sound. But I guess that if you're thinking it you might say it out loud too whether you think you are or not. Maybe, though, it's just some kind of...I don't know, I lost my train of thought. But that's just what I'm talking about. Or, have been talking about anyway. If we just write down all of our thoughts then it'll come to us, right? Because it's gotta be in our heads somewhere. It might be like that dream theory, where your dreams are caused by stuff that you think or do or see all day and so then you dream about it, right? Maybe, since it's happening to _us, _then we'll be able to think what's going on, maybe even dream about it and--"

I stopped and took in a huge breath, then I continued.

"Then maybe that way we'll be able to somehow figure it out in our conscienceness or subconsciousness or not conscience at all or maybe somewhere in between, but then I _did _say it was a stupid idea, but most of the genius' were considered thinkers of stupid ideas. Not that I'm saying I'm a new Einstein or anything, but I'm just saying sort of that--"

"BRIDGER!" Jack cut me off, and I took another deep breath, resting on my knees.

"Thanks, Jack," I gasped. Being smart is a real chore, let me tell you. Not that, you know--oh never mind.

"That's not a bad idea," said Syd slowly.

"Wha'?" asked Sky, staring blankly at her. Then me. Then her. Then--you get the idea.

"I can't see where you're coming from, Mr. Carson." said Z calmly. "And how do you feel about that?"

My jaw dropped. "YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO BE A _LAWYER! _OH FOR THE LOVE OF _TOAST!!"_

I was officially fed up. This was getting too ridicuous for _me._

"Let me translate," said Syd, "I speak fluent Bridge." Wait a butter spreading second...that's what she said before we were rangers! Maybe that had something to do with...no, probably not.

"He means, if we write down everything we think that maybe we can figure it out. Okay?"

There was a group-wide "oooooh."

Syd rolled her eyes and slapped her forehead. I just rolled my eyes to the ceiling and then banged my head down on the polished wood.

"Ow." _Brilliant deduction, Sherlock._

I swear, sometimes these guys can be even stupider than _me!_

Not, that...you know, I'm _that _stupid. Unless I really am and maybe I just donw't see it but everybody else does or maybe just a few people or one person or a maybe an on-and-off combination or multiple combinations or maybe none of them or--

Never mind.

* * *

Authors Note: Ah yes. Tapping into my Inner Bridge. Well? What didja think? REVIEW! I ACCEPT ANONYMOUS FOR TOAST'S SAKE!! JUST HIT THE BUTTERY BUTTON! Update soon. The mystery will soon be solved! (But with lots of butteriness, of course)


	14. How To Go Crazy in Just Under 3 Hours

Dawn of the Personality-Challenged Power Rangers  
By Holly-Batali

Disclaimer: I do NOT own Bridge or SPD. Nor do I own Grumm and his various assorted nasties. See below for further details...

And I quote:

'I do not own Power Rangers, SPD, musical theatre, sitcoms, Mexico, Goths (in all forms and terms), germ phobia, Lysol (and other various cleaning products), or Puff the Magic Dragon. However, I _do _own Puffers the not-so-magical-as-much-as-polyester-fiber dragon.'

So THERE.

Chapter 14: How to Lose Your Mind In Just Over Three Hours by Bridge Carson

As the great Robert Benchly (don't ask me who he is) once said, 'It took me fifteen years to discover that I had no talent for writing, but I couldn't give it up because by that time I was too famous.'

Now, I'm not sure about the "famous" part of it, but it sure didn't take me fifteen years to discover that I had no talent for writing. I found out in about three hours, sixteen minutes, and fifty-three point seven two five nine seconds. What can I say, I have a good mind...and an even better stopwatch.

I groaned in frustration and threw my pen at a passing D-Squad cadet. He yelped and ran out of the rec room. I spread myself out on the couch, like butter on toast...mmmm..._buttery _toast.

I was somewhat aware of Z coming down to sit next to me, regarding me curiously. After a few minutes I got fed up. "_What?" _I asked rudely. "Do you need something 'Miss Delgado?'"

Unruffled, she replied, "I see you're not writing much...if the pile of rumpled papers by your seat is any evidence. And it is; I've taken the liberty to confiscate them and send them to forensics."

I slapped my forehead--a very familiar action these past weeks.

"I don't see _you _writing Judge Judy."

"I have been," she said primly, and pulled out a sleek, shiny laptop. I nearly _drooled _in envy. "I've discovered that perhaps Ms. Drew was right; food poisoning could be likely. With the way food is stored and prepared here the SPD Academy, it's likely that a virus could have entered the food in preparation time. It could be food poisoning, mercury intake, e-coli--"

"Anything that doesn't involve food?" I asked testily. _She's as good as just _shouting _that I was poisoned by my own precious buttery toast! The _nerve, _honestly._

"Well, now that you mention it, Mr..." she glanced at her clipboard, "Lancelot; his idea--extreme boredom--might have something to do with it. Not the entire problem, certainly, but some of it, perhaps. I'll have Dr. Felix run a few medical tests on the entire B-Squad, then we'll just see, won't we?"

* * *

"OW! Geez, watch the nerves, Doc." Jack rubbed his arm as Dr. Felix finished up a blood test, extracting his needle and putting a label on the vial.

"Get over it, Jack." he mumbled.

Jack huffed and came over to sit in the plastic chair at the end of a long line that consisted of five people: Jack, Sky, Z, Syd, and me. I squirmed fearfully in my chair.

"Relax, Bridge." Syd soothed. "It'll be fine. Doc has a totally groovy karma, 'kay?"

I glanced around with crazy eyes. "Yeah, I know."

"Then what could you possibly be afraid of?"

I hesitated. "Well, see...I know this is a medical facility and all," I said in a quiet rush, "but just _think, _just try to fathom, all of the germs in this very room!" She sighed, and said something along the lines of 'not this again,' and I gestured impatiently. "No, listen! Tons of sick people come in here every day, and they bleed and sneeze and cough all _over _this place! Honestly! What if we catch pnemonia? Or the flu? Or, or, or...Yersina Pestis!" I gasped. "It's all a sick twisted trick! We're all going to die!!"

"Bridge! Calm down!" she hissed, trying to come my borderline hyperventhilation. She paused. "Ye-what?"

"Yersina Pestis," I said in a small voice, "you know; the bubonic, septicemic, and pneumocic plagues?"

She paused for a moment. "Oh." Now she sounded a little more freaked. _Good. _It was about time that somebody--other than than me--was seeing sense here.

"Carson, you're up." I whimpered and went over to the doctor and sat down on the crinkly-paper stuff. "Time to draw a little blood," he said lightly. My eyes widened and I gulped as he pulled out the biggest needle I have ever seen. "This won't hurt a bit," he reassured, chuckling.

"Oh crap." I gulped.

Then my eyes rolled up and I fainted.

* * *

Authors Note: Okay. I admit. I cheated. I said I wouldn't update till 6/1, but I had two or three full chapters to stories just sitting in my Documents file...and, obviously, I updated. So sue me.


	15. Lock Box

Dawn of the Personality-Challenged Power Rangers  
By Holly-Batali

Disclaimer: I do NOT own Power Rangers. I've said it fourteen times already, for crying out loud! Do I really need to say it again? Fine. Grrr...

I repeat (for the 14th or 15th time): I do not own Power Rangers, SPD, musical theatre, sitcoms, Mexico, Goths (in all forms and terms), germ phobia, Lysol (and other various cleaning products), or Puff the Magic Dragon. However, I _do _own Puffers the not-so-magical-as-much-as-polyester-fiber dragon.

Happy?

Chapter Fifteen: Lock Box

Yeah, um...I suppose I didn't mention my childhood fear of needles? Okay, fine. I didn't _have _a childhood fear of needles, but it sounds better than 'I fainted because there might be any _number _of germs on those things and they're _shoving them into my skin?! _No wonder I...passed out. Yeah, I passed out from heroic concern, I--

"Bridge."

It was concern for my team, that was it! If I hadn't reacted then we would all be in grave danger and then we would be _so _screwed--

"Bridger."

I should get a Purple Heart, or a badge of courage, or--

"HEY! BRIDGE!"

I jerked upright. "Lysol Brand II Disinfectant Spray is not to be held responsible for any incidents--oh. Sorry. So, what'd I miss?" Everyone rolled their eyes and exchanged a look. Then Z stepped forward with her awesome laptop.

"We've figured the cause for the identity change, Bridge."

That got my attention real fast. "Yeah? Well, what is it?!"

"Food poisoning." said Syd, tuning her guitar. "We found traces of bacteria in the cooler we were using last week. With antibiotics, we should be able to cure it."

"Oh, good." No. It _wasn't _good. Something wasn't right...I personally cleaned out every cooler in the academy, so how _could _they have found any bacteria? Unless it was recent, and then it couldn't have affected us. No. It was something else. But _what?_

* * *

At two in the morning, one is not usually seen wearing all black and sneaking to the kitchens in the SPD Academy. But there I was, doing just that. And I wasn't trying to get a midnight snack, either. I wanted a look at those coolers.

As I entered the kitchens, I waved my flashlight to the stack of blue coolers in the back corner. I walked over and knelt down on the ground, sticking my flashlight in my mouth to point down at the floor. I took out a few petri dishes and some swabs, then I took out my microbacteria scanner. Scanning the coolers, I found the ones that had unusual bacteria and took samples. That done, I took out a notebook and sat in the corner, making notes of what I'd just discovered:

**Kitchens: the Coolers (dun dun DUN)**

**Okay, so, I just took some samples out of the coolers (the blue ones) in the kitchens (at SPD). But I already SAID that. Stick THAT in your juicebox and suck it! Or...stick THAT in your toilet and scrub it! HA!**

**Anyway, I didn't really find much except your run of the mill (or maybe run of the factory, since there aren't all that many mills around now-a -days but--whatever.) and I found out that--well, nothing really. So I'm just going to have a look around and see what's REALLY going on in those lock boxes that 'supposedly' have the chocolate stashed in them, but probably DON'T. **

**Never hurts to be TOO careful, right?**

I sighed and put away my notebook, moving to the chocolate. Hey, as long as was here, right? I opened the box--these cooks really need to learn how to use a decent lock, not an electrical one--and pulled out three chocolate bars. I stuffed them into my bag and started to walk away when I noticed something about one of the wrapped bars of chocolate still in the box: it'd been opened before.

It was easy enough to tell, I mean, it was just a simple 're-glue the wrapped and git' kind of thing. A prank from D-Squad? _No..._

I pulled out one of the bars I'd stashed in my bag and examined it. Sure enough, it was re-glued...hmmm...

I ran back to my room.

I had research to do.

* * *

Authors Note: I'm reaaaaaallly sorry for taking so long, but I've been starting two other stories and finishing another, plus, like I said before, six people--two of them brothers--sharing on computer, does _not _work out well. Kind of short, I know, but we're almost done here. So just bear with me, 'kay?


	16. Chemicals

Dawn of the Personality-Challenged Power Rangers  
By Holly-Batali

Disclaimer: I repeat (for the 16th time): I do not own Power Rangers, SPD, musical theatre, sitcoms, Mexico, Goths (in all forms and terms), germ phobia, Lysol (and other various cleaning products), or Puff the Magic Dragon. However, I _do _own Puffers the not-so-magical-as-much-as-polyester-fiber dragon.

Chapter 16: Chemicals

The best part about having your own lab is that you can make it messy enough that nobody comes anywhere near, but they can't harrass you--without authority, anyway--about cleaning it up.

Another thing I love about my job.

Anyway, analyzing the candy bars turned out to be a huge stroke of luck. You know, 'stroke' of luck sounds a little depressing. You know, one of my uncles had a stroke and for the rest of his life he had this insatiable urge to eat an entire loaf of white bread.

Well, anyway, I found traces of some drugs in the chocolate. It was clever, really. The chocolate that had filling had the chemicals injected by syringe, while others had a colorless compound brushed on the inside of the wrapper.

Whoever did it, they're good. Really good. Really, really good. But not too good; in fact, not good enough. Because I'm better...You know, that would be my cue to strike a heroic pose and all, but I'm not sure how cool that would look what with the safety goggles and a doctors mask and rubber gloves and whatnot.

I was still working on what the 'chemicals' were, but I'd get that information soon enough. "Oh, you'll talk," I muttered to the empty chocolate wrapper on my workstation. I was poking and prodding with q-tips and tweezers, trying to get samples without the stupid thing closing on me. "You'll talk. Mwah ha ha!" What's a brilliant experiment without a diabolical laugh?

I swabbed the q-tip and was about to transfer to the petri dish when I had an idea. I paused and speed-walked over to the electrical box in the corner of the room. I tinkered with it a few months back, but I'd never gotten a chance to--aha! Got it. I closed the box and smiled as my chances took effect.

Suddenly, the lights started flickering (think dark room meets welder) and the sound effects booted up, too. Screams and wolves reverberated around the room, as well as the sound of corny, cartoon-like thunder and lightning.

"MWAH HA HA!" I laughed evilly, pulling off my goggles to replace them with my crazy glasses with the magnifying-lense lenses that make my eyes look freaking huge. And (best for last) my crazy Einstein wig!

I swabbed the q-tip on the inside of the petri dish. "YOU'LL TALK NOW! MWAH HA HA! YOU'LL TALK, ALL RIGHT! MWAH HA HA! MWAH HA HAAAA Commander!" I stopped abruptly as Commander Cruger and my team walked into the room, along with Kat, Doc Felix, and Boom. "Hi." I said lamely.

They stared open-mouthed at me. Without looking away from them, I quickly flicked the switch off in my electrical box. "What brings you here?" I said in a high-pitched voice.

Commander Cruger shook his head. "_What _am I going to do with you, Cadet?"

I cleared my throat and said nothing. I realized I still had my evil glasses on and my Einstein wig. With a quick movement I pulled them both off, flushed with embarasment. I dropped them on the floor and kicked them beneath the nearest table.

"Bridge," Kat managed, "you wanted to see us?" _Thank you Kat._

"Yeah, yeah I did." I bustled around, trying to distract the others from my 'evil genius moment.' "I...um, 'found' a few chocolate bars lying around and just happened to see that they'd been opened and reglued. So, I brought them back here, just 'cause, well, you know me; can't pass up a challenge." I paused. "Not that, you know, it's a _challenge _challenge, but just sort of a 'distraction.' I mean, it's important, but I know I have other things to do and--"

"BRIDGE!" Yelled Syd.

I took a deep breath. "Thanks, Syd." I gasped. _Talk about digging your own grave._

"Don't mention it." she said, totally used to this kind of thing by now. She was also my 'translator,' since nobody seemed to understand me, especially the D-Squaders and newbies and stuff.

"Right, sorry." I said, shaking my head to clear it. "Anyway, I found that somebody has been--or _had _been--sticking chemicals into the chocolate bars." I walked over to the main table and picked up the chocolate bar with the filling, careful even though I had my gloves on. "See?" I asked, holding it up to the others. "Right there. There's a smudge on here the bottom. Now, I had another one just like this, and I did an autopsy on it," I pointed to the other candy bar, which was drawn, quartered, and gutted like a fish...for want of a better phrase, I suppose. "The chemical was injected through three spots on that one--hence the three smudges on the bottom, where the...culprit, I suppose, rubbed it over to cover it up. A stupid move, really," I added. "I might not have noticed it if they'd just left it. Like they say, a puncture wound is harder to spot than a blood stain."

"Who said that?" asked Z curiously.

I laughed nervously. "It was, uh, me?"

Everyone rolled their eyes.

I coughed nervously. "Right, well, the other one," I moved over to a table with the solid chocolate. "Here, the wrapper was coated lightly in the substance. Sort of how you would brush a pastry with an egg mixture. You just remove the candy bar, brush down the wrapper, and replace the chocolate. Very clever, actually." I trailed off, sucked unwittingly back into my work.

"I was taking some samples when you guys um...came in." I blushed again and held up the petri dishes, which were now sealed in plastic. "Kat, could you and Dr. Felix look these over for me? I'm gonna go through the kitchens and see if there's anything else that's been effected. Sir?" I asked, turning to the Commander.

"Go ahead, Bridge," he said with a nod. "Sky, Sydney, I want you two to go with Bridge and help. Jack, Z, I need you two to stay on active duty, just in case. Dismissed." With a chorus of 'yes sir,' we went to work.


	17. Plan of Attack

Dawn of the Personality-Challenged Power Rangers  
By Holly-Batali

Disclaimer: I repeat (for the 17th time): I do not own Power Rangers, SPD, musical theatre, sitcoms, Mexico, Goths (in all forms and terms), germ phobia, Lysol (and other various cleaning products), or Puff the Magic Dragon. However, I _do _own Puffers the not-so-magical-as-much-as-polyester-fiber dragon.

Chapter 17: Plan of Attack

"...estly Bridge, I don't know how you can stand it! It's straight _research, _and _tinkering, _day after freakin' day!" I pulled my eyes off of the microscope long enough to roll my eyes at Syd's tirade, then went back to work. Analyzing chocolate wrappers is actually pretty cool, especially when there are certain freakish alien chemicals on the wrappers that I'm probably poisoned with. Now _that _is fun. I just don't understand why Sky fell asleep a few minutes in. Seriously; he fenced for a few minutes, read some monologue from a Broadway script--something we are all sadly used to by now--and then paced. I offered to let him have a go, but he couldn't figure out how to get the microscope working, so I figured it would be best to just do all the work myself, instead of having Lance-a-Sky screwing with the systems.

I focused the lens on my microscope, looking at a light green...something. It was very...I dunno; almost _pretty, _I guess. It wasn't doing anything, apart from the occasional curling of the ends, which them went back to being straight...huh. I couldn't think of anything like that; I'd have to ask Kat.

"Maybe I should try again," he said suddenly, making me jump; I hadn't realized he had woken up. "It might go faster."

My patience was starting to strain. "I'm not Scottie," I said bad-tempered. "I can't just magically fix something if you break it; and I'm not exactly qualified to be messing with these chemicals as it is," I added quietly. "So I'm not sure if we'll have insurance coverage if you _do _break something."

The stared at me blankly. "Who's Scottie?" asked Syd, confused.

I blinked at her in disbelief. "Scottie; you know, from Star Trek? Anyone, Star Trek?" They shook their heads slowly. Maybe the chemical was messing with their brains or something. Not knowing Star Trek?! Preposterous. Inconceivable! _I do not think that means what you thinks it means... _I heaved a sigh; I'd been watching too many movies lately. _Very outdated movies, apparently; nobody has any idea what I'm quoting...HOW COULD THEY HAVE NOT SEEN STAR--_

"BRIDGE!"

"--_TREK_!" I yelled, spinning around, making the one word sound like some kind of battle cry. I glanced around jumpily; I could feel Sydney and Sky staring blankly at me. Sky blinked. "Oh," I said, coming back to my 'Bridge-Senses.' "What?"

Sky shook his head, rolling his eyes. He muttered something like, 'Of all the peasants I had to get stuck doing good deeds for, it had to be _him._'

"I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that," I called out in a slightly haughty/offended tone. Then I added in a quiet undertone, "s'not like I'm in a better situation, stuck with the King Arthur wannabe."

"Blasphemy!" yelled Sky, outraged. He pulled out his saber and pointed it at my chest. I blinked in surprise. _Why am I the only one who can never learn to shut up?_

"Come off it, Sky," said Syd, pulling on his arm warningly. "Violence is _not _the answer."

"I TOLD YOU!" he thundered, turning his head to glare at her. "MY NAME IS _LANCELOT_!"

Syd snorted, disgusted with his 'ungroovy' way of handling the situation. "Yeah _right, _and I'm Morgan La Fay." She stopped, and the two of us shared an 'oh-crap' moment.

Sure enough, Sky sucked in a breath, his eyes going wide. He pushed me to the ground and raised his sword to strike at Syd. "VILLAIN!" he shouted. "MURDERESS! _THOU SHALT DIE_!!" He turned to me. "THOU MUST ALSO DIEST, ACCOMPLICE OF EVIL!"

"Oh _crap,_" Syd and I both said. I scrambled to my feet, pushed Sky aside, and we high-tailed it out of there, not bothering to call out for a noble steed, but going straight for the cavalry.

_"COMMANDER!!"_

* * *

"...and Kat, I want that simulation up and running by the end of the week. Understood?"

"Of course, Doggie," said Kat, walking beside the commander. Syd and I didn't even notice or care what was going on, but now he'd certainly noticed us...

"COMMANDER!" Syd and I screamed, running at full tilt down the hallway. Sky ran behind us, brandishing his saber.

"VILLAINS! TRAITORS! MURDERERS! THOU SHALT NOT SUCCEED, AND KING ARTHUR WILL PREVAIL!" I tripped, flailing in my lab coat, and went down hard. Syd skidded to a halt, her shiny black boots the only thing I could see of her at the moment. She reached down, her black fishnet gloves scraping my hand as she helped me up.

We scrambled to hide--er, I mean went to our strategic positions--behind some potted plants, pulling the leaves in front of our faces for effective camouflage...well, _I_ thought it was effective.

"Commander," Syd gasped, sweating. Jeez, that nut job had chased us all over the base! Who knew the Big Blue Dog would be so hard to find?! "Could you _please _explain to Sky that I am _not _Morgan La Fay, and Bridge is _not _my accomplice." The Commander blinked, looking from us to Sky, who was, at the moment, standing still and not trying to kill me and Syd.

Cruger looked back at me. "Do I _want _to know?" he asked warily.

I gulped, still catching my breath. "No, Sir," I breathed. "But it would be nice if you'd tell Sky to back down a bit...Sir."

Cruger sighed and shook his head; then he turned to Sky and said, "at ease, Cadet. Don't make me confiscate your weapon." With a small sound of protest, Sky grudgingly sheathed the sword.

"Could've taken 'em," muttered Sky sulkily. Syd and I gave a collective sigh of relief.

Then I remembered my earlier discovery. "Oh, Kat!" she turned to look at me. "I was analyzing those wrappers, and I found this substance that I don't recognize. Could you take a look at it?" she nodded.

"Let's go," she said brusquely. I nodded gratefully and stood up, wincing at the stitch in my side. She noticed me limping, and said, "Bridge, what happened to your leg?" I blushed and Syd smirked.

"Oh, that." I said, trying to lighten the situation; this was sort of embarrassing. "Well, see, Syd and I were running a floor up, and hit a dead end, so I um...had the _strategic--_though slightly overrated," I added in an undertone, "--idea of, uh..."

"He jumped the rail on the second floor to get a level down," said Syd. "Went over the side and landed wrong on his leg."

I blushed harder while everyone else snickered--excluding the commander. Cruger doesn't snicker.

"Come on Bridge," chuckled Kat, "let's have a look at that substance." I nodded mutely; Syd gave me a hand and helped me to the lab, but I still heard Kat musing to the commander, "You know Doggie, I think maybe we should leave them like this. They're much more entertaining this way."

* * *

"Right here," I said, hobbling over to the microscope. The sample was still under the lens, so Kat came right over and took a look; she frowned.

"Silce," she said grimly, pulling away. "It's no wonder we didn't recognize the effects; we haven't had a case of Silce poisoning in over fifty years, not on Earth."

"And Silce is what?" I asked, confused.

"It's an alien plant, often used for medicinal purposes. It helps a lot with variations of alien flu's; problem is, with this much of it, raw, no less, it can be a little...well, it's a bit like a drug. Hallucinations, bit of a 'brain scramble', and, best for last, slight delirium, often resulting in split personality disorder."

"Oh great," said Jack from beside Z; we'd picked the two of them up--along with Boom and Felix--on the way to the lab; figured they'd want to see this. _Ha! I was _right.

There was a minute or two of silence while we all thought. "But who did it," I asked slowly, voicing everyone's thoughts. "And how come it's only affecting B-Squad?" I decided to take a leaf out of Jack's book. I hopped on my left foot (the uninjured one) over to my whiteboard, flipping it over to the clean side--which would have been more impressive if I hadn't hit myself in the face with it when I did.

Shaking my head to clear it, I pulled out a dry erase marker from my lab-coat pocket and started scribbling. "So, we know that we're being poisoned with Silce, and that they're using food to do it, in large, raw doses. Kat, do you think we were all dosed at the same time and the effects only took place at different times, or were we dosed at different times?" It took them a moment to catch up to me--seeing as though I can talk pretty fast at times like this--but Kat caught up the fastest.

"I'm going to say that you were all dosed at different times; the effects should have taken place simultaneously in all of you if you had been dosed at the same time." I nodded, going back to my board.

"So, we were all dosed at different times; about two to three days apart. We need to know who did it, what there motive is--oh, and Kat? Would the effects have lasted all this time, or would we have needed continuous dosage?"

"Continuous," said Kat immediately.

"So it would have to be someone with direct access to all the food..."

"Deliveryman?" asked Z.

"No; the culprit would have to be able to make sure that the food was reaching us, and just us, not to mention keeping an eye on us... hmm... Commander? Permission to suggest a plan of action?"

Cruer nodded. "Permission granted, Cadet." I nodded my thanks.

"We'll need to go over security footage from the last two weeks, go through the food for traces of more Silce, and I also suggest that we interview all cafeteria and kitchen staff."

"Agreed," said Cruger. "Sydney, Jack, I want you two to go over the security footage. Sky, Kat, I want you to look for any more of this Silce. Bridge, Z, you interview the staff. And Bridge? I want regular aura scans from all of the interviews. Understood?"

"Yes, Sir!" we chorused, saluting, then left the lab. It was too late in the evening to do anything, so we all headed off to bed, hoping for a good night's sleep before the day ahead of us, which, without a toast-buttering doubt, would be a serious pain in the waffle iron.

* * *

Authors Note: So now they know, they just don't _know. _Ach, I've been spending too much time writing as Bridge! (Not that I'm complaining.)

By the way, thank you for your wonderful reviews, they make me VERY happy. BUTTERY TOAST ALL AROUND!

Oh, I almost forgot to mention--NEXT CHAPTER WILL HAVE PARTS THAT SWITCH VIEW-POINTS, SO THERE WILL BE NO-BRIDGE SECTIONS. (NOT IN 1ST PERSON.)


	18. To the Toastmobile!

Dawn of the Personality-Challenged Power Rangers  
By Holly Batali

Disclaimer: I repeat (for the 18th time): I do not own Power Rangers, SPD, musical theatre, sitcoms, Mexico, Goths (in all forms and terms), germ phobia, Lysol (and other various cleaning products), or Puff the Magic Dragon. However, I _do _own Puffers the not-so-magical-as-much-as-polyester-fiber dragon.

Chapter 18: To the Toastmobile

"Okay," sighed Jack, straddling one of the chairs in the security room; Syd sat down primly next to him, tuning her guitar. Jack gave a martyred sigh and pulled up the first security disk. "Let's get this over with; Sydney, I'll do the first disk, and then you can do the next one while I make notes. We'll rotate from there, okay?"

"Whatever, dude," said Sydney.

"...Okay." Jack raised his eyebrows and turned back to the screen. "Of all the people..."

Syd gave him her version of a 'gesture' (which, in her case, was a peace sign; Sydney was now a strong believer of peace and brotherhood and all that.)

"This is going to be a long day," Jack muttered to himself, turning his eyes back to the screen...

* * *

"And have you seen anything unusual lately?"

Beatrice (one of the food prep assistants) blinked in confusion. "Like wha'?" she asked in a crisp London accent. "I see thin's every day, tha' are unusual. Couldn'ya be a bi' specific?"

Bridge and Z exchanged a glance, wondering what to say.

Z cleared her throat. "Well, any abnormal behavior amongst the staff, any ingredients in the kitchen that are normally absent..."

"You know, anything that's a little out of whack that you wouldn't normally see, but you _have _been seeing, and it's sort of curious and you can't help but wonder what it is; if you're curious at all, that is. Or maybe you already _know _what it is, but you don't usually see it--"

"We comprehend, Mr. Carson," said Z impatiently. Turning back to Beatrice with a long-suffering sigh, she asked--very Katie Couric-like in Bridge's opinion--"have you come by anything unusual, Ms. Jaundice?" (Jaundice was her last name).

Beatrice blinked in an attempt to clear her thoughts, a little startled by Bridge's monologue and Z's diplomacy--but then again, this _was _B-Squad, who were the very definition of weird.

"Um, well..." she raised her eyes to the ceiling trying to recall any unusual happenings. "Oh! There were a few mixed-up spices in the rack, but I think that's all."

"Right!" said Bridge forcibly, jumping to his feet while Z was still writing on her laptop. "QUICK ROBIN, TO THE TOASTMOBILE!" Without further ado, he was off, sprinting through the cafeteria...

...until he tried to jump one of the circular tables. The crashing and cursing could be heard without the area.

Z slapped her forehead.

* * *

"Anything?"

Sky shook his head sorrowfully. "I'm afraid not, fair maiden," he sighed dramatically, casting a baleful glance at Kat, who was rifling through a crate of packaged sulfur in one of the biochem labs.

Kat looked up and glared meaningfully at Sky. "Watch it, Lance-a-twit."

Sky looked up to protest. "I beg your pardon madam?! I am a _knight. _I do nothing more than defend your homes and livestock, keep away marauders and thieves, defend the weak--" She gave him an icy glare; he wilted quickly. Holding up a box, he said, "--um...and search through boxes?" She nodded, and he did just that, cowering meekly before her intimidatingness.

"I don't get it," said Kat after a few more minutes. "We've searched everywhere. There should at least be _traces._ Besides, if the poisoning is continuous, then there would _have _to be evidence somewhere."

"Hm..." said Sky, rubbing his chin. "Yes, that is a quandary isn't it."

Kat shot him a heavy-lidded look. "You're hopeless."

"To be hopeless, or not to be hopeless," boomed Sky, striking a pose. "_That _is the que--" He was cut off as Kat stuffed a package of pitri dishes in his open mouth, nearly choking him.

"_Zip _it, squiggy," she warned fiercely, pointing a threatening finger in his face and getting back to work, enjoying the sight of Sky, trying to yank out the offending obstruction more than she knew she should.

* * *

Limping into the kitchens, Bridge led the way towards the colossal spice rack on the far wall of the perfect white room.

"Here!" he yelped unnecessarily; the rack was hard to miss, seeing as though it took up the whole wall. "Now...what spices were they?" He stopped and scrunched up his face into his 'I'm trying to look like I'm thinking' face.

Z, who had been smart enough to stick around enough to ask that same question, sighed and walked forward, running her fingers deftly over the caps of the spices. "Ms. Jaundice stated that she noticed anomalies in the placement of the cinnamon and the black pepper."

"That makes sense," Bridge said, staring into space. "They're probably the most common spices used; that would pretty much ensure that the poison would reach us. But how--"

"--Would they stop the poison from spreading to others?" finished Z with an identical look of concentration.

They shared a stricken look and said at the same time. "There's another factor."

* * *

"Kat," asked Sky, actually sounding serious for once, which was what grabbed Kat's attention in the first place.

"What is it?" she asked, turning from her scan of the chemical catalogs.

"This one isn't listed anywhere," said Sky, holding up a bottle of pale orange powder. The two of them had been going through every vial and bottle in the entire science department, locking the whole section down to ensure that everything stayed where it was. Matching everything up with the logs of what was where and how much, they had gone through every scrap in over nine labs, no common feat.

Frowning, Kat picked her way around all of the boxes and crates between them to take hold of the bottle, no larger than a molasses bottle. She held it up to the light, turning the glass around slowly.

Her frown deepened. "I don't know what this is," she admitted, surprising them both. It wasn't every day that one caught Kat Manx off guard. "But I can find out," she said firmly. Then she turned towards the lab door, heading for the testing lab.

"Come on."

* * *

A/N: Um...hi? Please don't kill me for updating late (REAAAAAAAALY late), or I can't finish! Review, please!!! OH! And today is my one-year anniversary for writing/posting fanfic, so reviews are loved today especially!


	19. Knights of the Round Table

Dawn of the Personality-Challenged Power Rangers  
By Holly-Batali

Disclaimer: I repeat (for the 19th time): I do not own Power Rangers, SPD, musical theatre, sitcoms, Mexico, Goths (in all forms and terms), germ phobia, Lysol (and other various cleaning products), or Puff the Magic Dragon. However, I _do _own Puffers the not-so-magical-as-much-as-polyester-fiber dragon. Lyrics belong to Broadway, from _Spamalot. _Not mine.

Chapter 19: Knights of the Round Table

"_This _is how they're doing it."

The eight of us--Cruger, Boom, Doc Felix, Sky, Jack, Z, Syd, and I--looked blankly at Kat, who was standing in one of SPD's briefing rooms in front of a _very _impressive (if I do say so myself) PowerPoint.

"Well that's just _great_!" Growled Felix crossly (that's a fun word; 'crossly'. Do I sound British yet?). "So not only do we have to deal with this squirmy green stuff--"

"Silith," interjected Kat, raising an eyebrow in amusement.

"--Whatever. So not only that, but now we have to deal with the orange powdery stuff too?!"

"'Orange powdery stuff'?" snickered Syd; the doc shot her a withering look.

"_That,_" sad Kat, rolling her eyes irritably, "is called Koapse."

"Koapse?" Jack scoffed. "What kind of a name is that?"

"I don't know!" growled Kat. "I didn't name it, I'm just talking about it."

"All right, all right," placated Jack as everyone else--us rangers, anyway--snickered. Jack made a haughty gesture. "Proceed."

Kat growled, the sound sounding more like a panther with its tail stuck in the radiator.

Yup; the soul of a poet, that's me.

_Well, I try._

"_As I was saying--_"

"Yes, you were," said Sky brightly.

"OH FOR CRYING OUT LOUD!" yelled Kat, throwing down her papers. I couldn't help but snort out a few laughs, seeing as though it was helpless to try and stop myself from doing just that. "SHUT _UP_!"

"Kat, calm down," said the commander. "Landors, Tate, stop harassing my top scientist."

"Yes, sir," said Jack easily.

Sky, however, leapt out of his chair. "Yes, SIR!" he yelled. "My apologies, my liege!" He jumped up onto the table and knelt, hands on the hilt of his 'sword', which was currently gouging up the conference table.

"At ease, Tate," sighed Cruger, totally used to this by now. Us rangers were used to it too, but we still found it amusing.

"Pardon my insolence, Sire," said Sky, "but I am Sir Lancelot, Knight of the Round Table." Then he frowned and looked around at the table he was on. Turning back to Cruger, he said, "Sire, should this table not be round?"

We all knew the signs; it was time for a Red Alert.

Cruger didn't react quickly enough.

"We'reeeee," sang Sky, smiling widely and standing up on the table,

_"We're knights of the round table,  
we dance when e're we're able,  
we do routines and chorus scenes,  
with footwork impecc-able.  
We dine well here in Camelot,  
we eat ham and jam and spam a lot."_

He was doing some sort of freaky tap dance thing now (which I knew to be the exact dance moves from _Spamalot: the Musical, _as he'd had me watch it with him so I could compare him to the real actors.)

"STOP HIM!" Roared Cruger, jumping out of his chair to point a finger at the tap-dancing maniac, who was still singing. I suppose we should've helped, but we were too busy howling with laughter.

_"We're knights of the round table  
Our shows are for-mid-able  
But many times, we're given rhythms  
That are quite unsing-able  
We're opera mad in Camelot  
We sing from the diaphragm a lot."_

"SECURITY!" Yelled Cruger. "GET ME STRAIGHT JACKETS, NOW!"

"They're calling in SWAT!" laughed Syd. Now, before you get all excited, the 'SWAT' we're referring to isn't 'Special Weapons and Tactics'. It's something we came up with to say 'Sweet Waffles and Turtles', which is Toast Talk for 'the Blue-Coats are coming', aka 'security'.

_"We're knights of the table  
Although we live a fable  
We're not just bums  
With royal mums  
We've brains that are quite a-ble  
We've a busy life in Camelot._

"Sing with me, Bridge!" He laughed.

"Um, no thanks," I said.

Then I looked at the table...

...And screamed like a little girl.

* * *

A/N: Ooh, cliffie.


	20. Come Here Often?

Dawn of the Personality-Challenged Power Rangers  
By Holly-Batali

Disclaimer: I own naught but a SPAMALOT t-shirt (which I am currently wearing) and a copy of Monty Python and the Holy Grail. And a DVD of SPD. And an impressive panda collection, but that's neither here nor there, not unlike the useless 12-inch eagle feather in my pencil holder.

A/N: WOW. Two and a half years. *long exhale* Okay, so I don't really have any excuse other than I completely lost interest. But I just wanted to say thank you SO much to Michelle the Editor, , and everyone else that has encouraged me to finish this story! Without further ado, here is the long-awaited chapter 20!

Chapter 20: Come Here Often?

"Bridge?"

I ignored Syd's gasp and leaped into Commander Cruger's arms a little girlishly. "Good grappling hook, they're everywhere!" I shrieked, pulling out my pocket spray bottle of Lysol and spraying it like a protective barrier. After a moment of deliberation, I opted to spray the commander's face as well.

It might not have been my best idea.

The commander let out a high-pitched squeal and brought his paws (?) up to his face, dropping me to the floor. I yelped in pain and then changed that yelp to a scream as I was attacked by the germs on the linoleum floor. I started spraying as fast as I could, chanting disclaimers and broken promises to myself. "99.9% of viruses and bacteria-you promised me! How COULD you?"

"Oh Thank God! Security's here, Commander!" Kat yelled as a group of black-clad (GERM-COVERED) policemen bust into the room. They immediately started wrestling us into straight jackets. Jack was the first to go ("was this because of my ratings? But I improved from the other week!"), then Z ("I demand to know my righ-scratch that, don't tell me so that I can sue you for all you're worth"), then Syd ("Dudes! So not cool! Your karma is like sooooo negative mans"). Sky put up quite a fight ("Unhand me you dastardly bastards! Stop! I say, this is unprecedented! Oh, you want a fight? I'll show you a fight!") and then I went down without much of a fight...what? I was traumatized!

"Take them away, for the love of Beggin' Strips!" Cruger yowled, still clutching at his face.

* * *

"_Aaaaaaaaaall alooooooooooone  
I'm aaaaaalllllll aloooooooooooneeeee  
No one heeeere besiiiiiiiiiiide meeeee-"_

"SKY! FOR THE LOVE OF LAW SCHOOL, SHUT THE HE-"

"Kyaaaa! Geeeerms!"

"Dudes, just chill and feel the lov-"

_"MY RATINGS!"_

Good goat cheese, this was never going to end! They should have at least put us in separate padded cells! We were all in the same one, and it was not turning out well. I'm talking really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really-

"CADETS!"...Dead silence.

Yeaaaaah. The Commander was beyond pissed. He was so beyond it that he was in another galaxy, possibly a galaxy that's so far from our own that they think that the galaxy he might be from could be so far from _their_ own that the people from THAT galaxy think-

"Cadets, I think we're at the limit. I've tried to be patient and understanding, but enough is enough. You are hereby confined until this case is closed."

...Oh, he was _pissed!_

* * *

"...Soooooo what are we gonna do?"

There was no answer. We were all pretty surprised that the commander would go that far. I mean, we knew he was mad, but it didn't seem _that_ bad. I mean, it even SAID on the back of the spray bottle: "if in eyes, hold open and rinse slowly and gently with water for 15-20 minutes" and really it didn't seem that bad. So he should have been fine! Though honestly, I don't know if he even washed them at all; he was at the cell a lot faster than fifteen minutes.

...Silly commander!

"We musn't despair! We must press on and be courageous!"

"Oh shut up, Sky."

"LANCE-"

_WHACK!_

Hm...Sky did have a point though. While we were sitting here, the culprit was up and about, wreaking havoc on the innocent and not-so-innocent-who-happened-to-kind-of-be-in-the-way. Or something like that.

"We could always just continue the investigation from here," Z suggested with a shrug.

"How would we do that?" Jack questioned miserably from the corner.

"Just eavesdrop on patrols and ask questions, I guess."

"Yeah!" I enthused, quickly taken by the idea. "And we could ask all about the stuff that we can't even really talk about 'cause it's classified, but still kind of hint at 'cause it's our only lead, while at the same time kind of pushing their feeble little minds in the directions that we want them to go! Cause if we could do that, we could even take over the world! And if we took over the world we could-"

_WHACK!_

"Shut up Bridge."

"Sorry, Syd."

"So what you're saying is that we do a special ops routine, _from the inside_?" Jack gasped.

"...Yeah, just not that dramatically."

I had a sudden idea. "Hey, Lancelot."

Sky looked at me, delighted by the use of his "real name". "Yes, humble squire?"

"...What other kinds of music can you sing?"

"Anything, of course!"

I grinned innocently. "What about _opera?_"

* * *

_"Largo al factotum della città._  
_ Presto a bottega, ché l'alba è già._  
_ Ah, che bel vivere, che bel piacere_  
_ per un barbiere di qualità!_

_ Ah, bravo Figaro!_  
_ Bravo, brayissimo;_  
_ fortunatissimo per verità!_  
_ Pronto a far tutto,_  
_ la notte e il giorno_  
_ sempre d'intorno,_  
_ in giro sta._

_ Miglior cuccagna per un barbiere,_  
_ vita più nobile, no, non si dà._  
_ Rasori e pettini, lancette e forbici,_  
_ al mio comando tutto qui sta. _

_ V'è la risorsa, poi, del mestiere_  
_ colla donnetta col cavaliere_  
_ Ah, che bel vivere, che bel piacere_  
_ per un barbiere di qualità!"_

You know, I really appreciated Sky taking one for the team like this, but honestly? Where on earth did he actually _learn _this stuff? Was there something about regular Sky that we REALLY didn't know?

But the plan was working; the guards were going NUTS. They wouldn't be able to take much more of this. He'd already gone through all of Papageno's songs from The Magic Flute and was almost finished with the Barber of Seville. He must be exhausted; and if _he _was tired, the guards would be at their limits.

_"For the love of God, MAKE IT STOP_!" One was screaming, clutching at his ears.

_"Tutti mi chiedono, tutti mi vogliono,  
donne, ragazzi, vecchi, fanciulle:  
Qua la parrucca. Presto la barba  
Qua la sanguigna. Presto il biglietto  
Figaro ... Figaro  
Son qua, son qua.  
Figaro... Figaro...  
Eccomi qua.  
Ahimè, che furia!  
Ahimè, che folla!  
Una alla volta, per carità!  
Figaro su, Figaro giù  
Pronto prontissimo son come il fulmine:  
sono il factotum della città.  
Ah, bravo Figaro!  
Bravo, bravissimo;  
a te fortuna non mancheràaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!"_

...Silence.

"Is it over?" One of them was whispering. "Oh please let it be over."

...MORE silence...

_"Pa-pa-pa-, pa-pa-pa,- papagena."_

"OH DEAR GOD SOMEONE KILL ME AND PUT ME OUT OF MY MISERY!"

I chuckled darkly to myself, rather enjoying this. "Let them squirm in fear and influenza for a while. _Then_ they'll talk. Mwahaha. MWAHAHAHAHA!"

_"Mein liebes Weibchen, mein Herzenstäubchen!"_

"NOOOO!"

* * *

A/N: Okay, so here's the plan: I'm finishing this story and My Roommate Is a Wraith, and ONLY THEN will I do anything else. THESE TWO COME FIRST! Please review, it gives me serious motivation to finish! Again, thank you so much to all those who have kept with this and encouraged me, it means so much!_  
_


	21. Plan of No Action

Dawn of the Personality-Challenged Power Rangers  
By Holly-Batali

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Not even Peter Paul and Mary/Gary.

A/N: Thanks so much for reviewing! I'll continue to write full steam ahead!

Chapter 21: Plan of No Action

Sky did his job well; within the next two days, he had brought eight patrols to tears of misery and despair. At that point, I suspected that they were ready to talk. This suspicion was confirmed when they grouped together and came to our cell, on their hands and knees, begging for a ceasefire. I, of course, was the best choice to lead the negotiations (okay, so I won rock-paper-scissors, but they should have known that I was unbeatable!)

"So," I began, sitting nefariously in the cell (well okay, I was sitting on Sky's back, who was acting as chair…I told him it was knight training) and looking down on the pitiful defeated. "You want to negotiate, huh?"

"Yes, please," they meekly replied. One of the bulkier ones in the back burst into tears.

"What are your terms of surrender?"

They looked confused. "I dunno, I mean, we just want him," the officer who spoke for the group pointed at a happy and oblivious Sky, "to stop singing."

"We'll do anything!" Screamed the bulky crying one. There were several vigorous nods of agreement.

I gave a cat-like smile. "Anything, huh?" I leaned forward towards the spokes-officer, peering evilly over my steepled fingers. "I want information."

He gulped.

"…Okay."

* * *

After some lengthy agreement talks, we settled on a new system: Sky would be silent, and in exchange, they would spy on the food supply and all those with access to it. They weren't even sorry, they were just grateful that they could continue their days in peace.

The Rangers (sans Bridge) were just peeved that they were still there.

"I'm so bored!" Screeched Sydney on the third day. "I've missed out on three rallies, two pet adoptions, and one Peter Paul and Gary concert! AND I missed the Locks for Lobsters donations!"

"Well I missed the Andrew Lloyd Webber documentary, so stop you're mutterings, foul maiden."

"How dare you address my client that way!"

"Client? I don't hire _lawyers_, you guys kill baby harp seals!"

"We most certainly do NOT!"

"Oh yeah? I'll bet you don't kill _bunnies _either, you bunny-killing-"

"Excuse me?"

"Yes!" I jumped at the interruption, desperate for some intervention. It was on of the guards from the negotiations; he looked nervous.

"Um...so, we have some information for you...sir."

"Proceed," I granted regally.

"Look, I mean, it's not much but it's something, I guess. But we heard one of the cafeteria staff saying that there were some things moved around in the kitchen. I mean, it was first thing in the morning, and they hadn't touched anything since they had locked up last night, so..."

"What was moved around?"

"Um, just some spices, a couple of cans, and some tea leaves. We don't know what spices, but apparently the cans were full of kiwis."

"They can kiwis?" Jack looked confused.

I nodded grimly. "Oh yes. In this day and age, I've even seen koala snot canned."

"Ewwww!" Shrieked Sid. "Seriously?"

"...No, not really. But that would be cool."

"Define 'cool'."

"Cool: adjective. Used to describe-"

"Never mind."

I shrugged. "Okay."

"So basically, there's nothing really solid yet, but we're still working on it, I swear!"

"I believe you." _Good cop WIN._

"So...I'm just going to...um, leave now..." He took his leave, a little awkwardly. I turned to my fellow cohorts and rubbed my hands together."

"Okay, so we have spices, kiwis, and tea leaves. Any connections?"

"Um...well, without really knowing what spices were taken or what kind of tea, I don't see how we can draw any solid conclusions. We have no solid leads."

"Okay, Z. Anyone else?"

"Yeah." I was surprised at how serious Sky sounded; it was almost like he was normal again!...You know, without the sequins on his uniform..."A lot of teas have leaves such as catnip in them, and I heard that cats love kiwis..."

"...So you're saying a cat has been poisoning us? Good one, stupid."

"It is NOT stupid! I was watching _Cats _the other night and-"

"You know, I can't take anything you say seriously anymore. I'd have better luck trying to drag an animal rights bill out of Dick Cheney-"

"Dick Cheney lived like a hundred years ago!"

"...Um, Syd, he's still alive. He's retired."

"Well...your face!"

"Wha? That makes no sense-"

"Neither does your fac-"

"WE GET IT," Jack yelled.

"Okay, so we've got cats and not enough evidence. Anything else?"

"Yeah, when do we get fed around here?"

"...THAT is a very good question."

"_Ha_. I'd trust SPD's food now about as much as that slop that PIGGY serves."

* * *

Somewhere in the vast city of Newtech, Piggy sneezed.

* * *

"_Ouch. _That seems a little extreme, Syd."

"No, poaching baby pandas is extreme, Bridge. This is just reality."

"...You know I can't take you seriously when you're doing interpretive dance, right?"

"It's not an interpretive dance! It's a tribute to the Iguana Gods!"

_Dear God (not the lizard-y one), PLEASE let us find our poisoner soon._

* * *

A/N: Thoughts? Questions? Suggestions? Toss me a line and tell me what you thought!


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